


Human

by ALCzysz17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon series deaths, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Jon's POV, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Promise, Really Cousins though, Sansa's POV, darkJon, darksansa, lots of deaths, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALCzysz17/pseuds/ALCzysz17
Summary: Jon’s path is changed when Ned admits he needs help handling the girls down South. Reluctantly, Jon heads to King’s Landing with his family where canon is changed with the addition of him. A friendship of sorts kindles between him and Sansa, and a love between siblings develops.Sansa just wanted to be wed to her golden prince, she just wanted that happy, love song romance of her childhood dreams. Yet, when her golden prince reveals his true nature, she comes to rely on Jon of all people for support and vice versa. If they are to survive the horror of the South then they will have to rely on each other, still something darker and deeper lurks inside their hearts when the South takes and takes upon them.How long until they are barely human anymore? How long until the darkness inside their souls turns them into the very monsters they wish to escape?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Becky217](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky217/gifts).



> This is really a long awaited xmas gift to Becky217 that I've been slow on finishing. It's still not completely done, but I'd say about half way there, so I figured I'd post it finally for everyone to enjoy. 
> 
> This is my version of the 'what-if Jon went to King's Landing instead of the Wall'. It will present a darker Jon and Sansa as the story goes further along. Of course, there will be smut. As if I could write a long story without it, perish the thought! I hope this will help everyone who is suffering through something after that abysmal season and how we were all cheated of Jonsa happening. 
> 
> Please enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

It was nearing lights out when his father had come to him.

He had spoken to his uncle Benjen, hoping that his father would allow him to become a part of the Night’s Watch. Jon fantasized what it would be like at the Wall. The adventures he’d have beyond the Wall where the wildlings roamed and the men he’d meet and come to admire. There was a small part of him that wondered if he was making it out to be something more than what it was. The way his uncle had spoken of the Watch and the expressions on his face told Jon a different story than what he believed it would be.

Sighing, he changed into his sleeping tunic then forced a brush through his unruly hair, flinching every so often when he hit a snag. Even with it recently cut, his hair still had a mind of its own. Jon jumped at the knock at his door. He walked over to open it, believing it to be Robb. Sometimes they hung out longer than their other siblings, talking about what happened that day or the future.

Robb seemed to believe that Jon would be a part of his bannermen once he took over Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Jon thought it was quite a pretty idea, but he didn’t much believe in the feasibility of the idea. Lady Stark hated him and seemed to believe that Jon was out to steal his trueborn siblings’ claims. He’d never do such a thing, but she also didn’t know him all that well, so there was no way for her to know otherwise.

He told his brother of going to the Wall. Robb would smile, pat him on the back and say it was a good calling, but he could see in his brother’s eyes that he didn’t like the idea at all. It was the same look their father had every time uncle Benjen was allowed to visit and leave back to the Wall; every time.

“Father,” Jon greeted, mildly surprised to find the Lord of Winterfell at his door. He smiled at him though his eyes were tired appearing. It was hard and exhausting work hosting the royals of King’s Landing.

“May I come in for a moment, Jon? I know it’s right before bed, but I wish to speak to you about something important,” Ned stated tiredly, entering the chamber when Jon stepped back to let his father in.

Excitement bubbled in his belly. Surely, his father was here to discuss him joining the Night’s Watch! Jon pursed his lips to keep from smiling broadly at the thought. There was no other reason for his father to come so late and it was a very important decision that he knew his father would wish to discuss further before agreeing. Jon had already planned out his argument well too.

First, he would talk about his age, and how he was practically a man grown, then he’d go on to say that with his status in life, it’d be a high calling to join the watch like many of the Stark men before him including their uncle. Jon had everything planned to a ‘T’ in his mind, he’d convince his father that this was the right decision for him.

Ned sat down heavily on Jon’s bed, waving him over to join him. Suddenly, Jon was wide awake, knowing he was about to change his life drastically.

In hindsight, he wished he had known it would be in a much different way…

“Benjen came to my solar a few minutes ago to discuss your wish to join the Night’s Watch,” Ned started, staring at Jon and taking in all his facial expressions. There was a sorrow to his tired eyes, Jon noticed. It gave him pause for a moment, realizing that his father probably didn’t like the idea anymore than his brother did.

But it was the one thing Jon wanted out of life. It was the one place where he could be something, something more than the bastard son of the supposedly honorable, Eddard Stark.

“Yes, Lord Stark, I wish to join.” He nodded, sighing like he wished it wasn’t what his bastard son wanted. Jon stopped himself from speaking further, from jumping into his prepared argument though it was on the tip of his tongue. Unease welled up inside his chest at the way his father suddenly couldn’t look him in the eye.

It wasn’t a good sign.

“Jon, I know life as a bastard is not the greatest, and I know Lady Stark hasn’t always been the most welcoming…but I can’t let you join the Night’s Watch.” Jon felt like all the air deflated from his chest, leaving him barren and empty.

“But why not!? As you said, I’m a bastard, and I have nothing to gain here! At least at the Watch, I can hope to accomplish something worthwhile!” Jon jumped up from his seated position, stepping away from his father as slow boiling anger replaced the excitement that had bubbled in his belly.

“Settle down, Jon,” Ned tried calmly, pain and exhaustion in his eyes.

“No! I won’t settle down! Not until you tell me why you won’t allow me this, this one thing I want most! I have never asked for more, I have never begged for toys and swords and bows! This is the one thing I ask of you, father, please.” His father merely shook his head, drawing his eyes down to the ground briefly before connecting his matching grey eyes with Jon.

“Right now, I need you to sit down and calm down then I will tell you why.” Jon swallowed at the sternness in his father’s voice. He gave a stiff nod though he wished to yell further and rant more; instead, he walked back to his bed to sit down once more. “Now, there is much you don’t understand of the Night’s Watch. It isn’t always noble men that decide to join like my brother, your uncle Benjen, many are traitors, rapers, and men without any other place to go.”

Jon clenched his teeth, feeling much like a child though he was nearing nine and ten. He had a feeling there was more to joining the Watch, he knew there would possibly be unsavory men there, but that still wasn’t going to stop him from trying to convince his father to allow him to join. The thought of running away to the Watch came to mind, but he pushed it away abruptly. That was a craven’s way out, and Jon was no craven.

“You can never have a family of your own, a wife or children. Though it may not seem like it, but you will also lose us as your family. It won’t be the same for you as it is for Benjen, Jon. Though you are my son and will be the brother to the next Lord of Winterfell, you will have to cut ties with us entirely. Are you prepared to do that?”

Jon ground his teeth together as the realization of what his father said was true. Though there is no classism in the Watch, Benjen seemed to be different, being allowed to come to Winterfell for important business even though he was not the Lord Commander. Jon hadn’t thought how different it would be for him once he joined, not in the way his father was saying. If he joined, he’d not be allowed to go back to Winterfell for special occasions such as the Royal’s coming to Winterfell. He’d watch as his uncle who would be considered his brother, leave while Jon was stuck at the Wall.

A part of him didn’t care, the dark, lonely part that never truly felt like a part of the Stark family, to begin with. The part that envied his brothers’ claims and trueborn status’, the part that loved how Arya seemed to disassociate with the Starks to be like him; the part that looked at his sister, Sansa, in a way a brother should not look at a sister.

His father was waiting for an answer though, and the one he had was not the one he wanted to give, but it was the truth.

“No…I’m not prepared for that,” Jon admitted in defeat, his shoulders slumping while he glared down at his fisted hands.

“There’s no shame in admitting you aren’t prepared, Jon. I wish not to allow you to realize much too late, not when you can prepare yourself.” He nodded, though the feeling of defeat weighed heavily upon him. He just wanted to be a man, to be something important rather than the stain on Eddard Stark’s reputation. “I have something much more important for you to do for me.”

“What?” Jon whipped his head up, arching his brows in confusion. Ned smiled tightly, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“You see, Jon, King Robert has asked me to be Hand to the King,” Ned started, dropping his hand to give Jon his full attention, “In all honesty, I don’t wish for such a fate, but I have little choice in the matter. Your sister, Sansa, is also going to be betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon.”

Jon kept his face emotionless though on the inside he burned and raged at the thought of that blonde, snaring bastard wedding his beautiful and gentle sister. The way Joffrey had looked at the Great Hall while escorting Sansa to the head table left a nasty taste in Jon’s mouth. He could tell the prince thought highly of himself while seeing everyone around him as beneath him. Sansa deserved better than a pretty boy with a horrible attitude.

“So, I will be bringing Bran, Sansa, and Arya to King’s Landing with me…and you, Jon.”

“You want me to come to King’s Landing?” Jon questioned in confusion.

“Aye, I do. Robb needs to stay here and finish his learning in lordship and Rickon is much too young to be taken away from his mother.” An ache burst inside Jon’s chest as he thought darkly, and I wasn’t too young to be taken from my mother? “I will have Jory with me and other men, but I need someone I can truly trust with your siblings.”

“Me,” Jon answered blandly.

“You,” Ned agreed. “I will look into having you squire with one of the Kingsguard or other knight-what if I don’t wish to become a knight?” Jon couldn’t help but be a bit difficult, he was almost a man, and yet his father felt to determine his worth and path without his input. Ned sighed, his face pinched in annoyance.

“Jon, don’t be difficult. I need you to watch over your siblings, especially your sisters. The old gods help me, they both have their heads in the clouds in different ways. Sansa is too naïve of the world around her while Arya pushes against the norms of her gender. I can’t always keep an eye on them, but you can. I need your help; will you please help me?”

Jon frowned deeply, wanting to rage more and continue to be difficult, but the way his father spoke and the expression on his face told him how sincere he was being. Ned Stark can’t do this all alone, and Jon didn’t have the heart to let him either.

“Alright, I will do as you say and go to King’s Landing, become a squire and watch over my siblings,” he muttered in defeat.

“Thank you, Jon.” His father smiled, this time more relaxed with his big hand on Jon’s shoulder to show his gratitude.

He wished he hadn’t agreed, wanting to-finally-be selfish and do what he wished for, but Jon couldn’t. The one thing he wanted more than anything, more than being a member of the Night’s Watch was his father’s approval. Even at his current age, he still wished for that approval, no matter how he got it.

That night, he dreamed of King’s Landing and squiring. He dreamed of teaching Arya how to use the sword he had commissioned for her in secret. He dreamed of training with Bran to become knights. He dreamed of Sansa smiling sweetly at him and bestowing a kiss on his cheek.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad going South instead of North…

\---------------------------------

Bran’s fall delayed everyone, and when they left, Jon got the worse talk down from Lady Stark. He understood she was in pain, everyone was seemingly leaving her during a terrible time, but that didn’t make her words hurt any less. He embraced both Robb and Rickon, sharing words of love and happiness even with the dark cloud of Bran’s fall over their heads.

“The next time I see you, you might be wearing all white,” Robb jokingly said, hoping to lift the heavy cloud off their shoulders.

“Aye, possibly though black has always been my color,” Jon shrugged, memorizing the flutters of snow landing in Robb’s red hair as he smiled broadly at him.

“Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.”

Jon clutched tightly at Robb, savoring the warmth of his brother in his arms. This would be the first time they were ever separated from each other. They did almost everything together, their lessons, going to other holdfasts, and training. Jon couldn’t remember a time he and Robb ever did anything without the other. There were the lord lessons his brother got over him, but Jon essentially got similar lessons himself, possibly to become part of Robb’s bannermen as they both figured that was what Lord Stark thought to do with his bastard son.

They held on for longer than was necessary, both almost refusing to let go until Jon took the initiative to release Robb. He noted his eyes were glossy as he looked at his brother, taking in his features as this would be the last time they saw each other for a long while. Robb seemed to be doing much the same, and Jon realized how much harder this was for his brother.

Robb was being left behind with their younger brothers, one bedridden and possibly knocking at death’s door and the other too young to really converse with. Jon was off to become something he never wanted while Sansa was betrothed to be wed and become a queen, and Arya could possibly find herself with a betrothal in a few years. How was it that they wanted to grow up so fast and now that they were here, it was far more difficult to let go of their childhood than they thought?

They smiled at each other, then Jon turned away, walking to his horse as everyone started to mount theirs.

“Jon,” Robb called out, halting his progress. He turned back to his brother. “Watch over our sisters and yourself.” He nodded at Robb’s final parting words, not realizing that was exactly why Jon was going down South; to watch over his sisters per their father’s wish.

He hoisted himself onto his horse, glancing about to see Arya and Sansa joining Septa Mordane in the cart. Arya glanced back at him, smiling brightly both from the sword she was gifted from him that morning and the fact that Jon was going South with them. He noticed Sansa didn’t look back, but that was to be expected. Their interacts were civil and kind but did not happen as much as with Arya who sought Jon out.

Jon felt a sense of foreboding as they left the courtyard of Winterfell behind them. It was like something monumental was to happen now that he was leaving. That same feeling joined with dread and despair when uncle Benjen with a few men including the Queen’s brother, Tyrion Lannister separated from the large group to head North to the Wall. Jon watched longingly, wishing he could be heading that way too…

\---------------------------------

The trek to King’s Landing was long and for the most part boring. Ghost walked along with his horse at the back of the party with Lady and Nymeria. Sansa had come to Jon before they left, making sure he vowed to keep Lady safe. He awkwardly smiled at her, nodding then verbally vowing per her orders that he would keep her direwolf safe during the journey.

He kept that promise too when the incident happened.

Jon had wished to join his father in searching for Arya after the prissy prince got bit by Nymeria, but Ned made him stay with Sansa instead. He joined the large group when Arya was found, and all the commotion of what truly happened started. Jon had gotten Sansa to tell him what happened, so he knew the whole truth, and he couldn’t entirely blame her for saying she couldn’t remember.

Queen Cersei was eyeing her with her green eyes darkening as Sansa said her peace. He also didn’t entirely blame Arya for how she reacted either. Jon moved to comfort his little sister when the Queen demanded the wolf’s pelt and when Arya said that Nymeria ran away, the Queen demanded Lady’s instead.

Shock rippled through their company, Sansa wailing that Lady was good while Arya shouted that Lady didn’t do anything wrong. He listened to his father beg for the King to do something else, but the drunkard King waved his father off with a shrug and wandering eye. Jon sank away through the crowd, moving fast as he heard his father state that he would kill Lady as it was his duty.

Jon wasn’t going to let that happen.

Ghost joined him, sensing the fear and anxiety in him. Jon found Lady sitting primly and tied to a post of one of the tents. He dropped to his knees, pulling out a hunter’s knife to cut away the rope around her neck. “Ghost,” Jon called, turning to his own direwolf.

Nymeria was gone, possibly from Arya’s doing and it would only be a matter of time before something happened to Ghost too. Unless he did something about it now. “I need you to take Lady and find Nymeria, keep them safe out here. Don’t let them forget Arya and Sansa.”

Ghost whimpered, the only sound Jon had ever heard him make. Tears welled up in his eyes as he hugged his direwolf tightly to him then turned to Lady. “Listen to your brother, keep each other safe.” She licked his cheek sweetly as he rubbed her head then he waved them away.

It took Ghost bumping Lady to get her to leave then they were both running away from the encampment and into the woods. Jon watched solemnly, hoping they would find Nymeria and stay together. His stomach felt empty and hollow while his heart ached. He did the right thing though, he was sure of it.

Jon hid when his father came around. He looked around for Lady, checking the rope to confirm it was cut then he called out for her. When she didn’t show up, Ned sighed as though he was relieved with his shoulders slumping. Jon watched as his father pulled out his own hunter’s knife, fiddling with the rope for a few minutes until it looked as though the rope was chewed through rather than cut. He frowned, realizing how foolish that was of him to make a straight cut.

Jon waited until he was sure his father was gone before heading to his lone tent. He slowed his walk when he heard sobbing. There was a lone candle in one of the larger tents, showing the shadows of someone crying; it was Sansa. It would be better to keep going, he thought, if she knew what he did, then more might find out, and he would get punished.

He tried to keep walking, but each broken sob prickled beneath his skin. He couldn’t let her continue on like that, not when her wolf was still alive.

“Sansa,” Jon called out at the front of her tent, waiting for her to allow him in. She ignored his call though her sobs quieted down some. “Sansa, can I come in?” he tried again.

“Go away, Jon!” Sansa cried out with her voice slightly muffled, most likely from having her face buried into her pillow.

“I have to tell you something, but I can’t say it out here.” He waited for a while, bordering almost five minutes before he heard her say, “come in.”

Jon lifted the tent flap, entering to find her on her cot. Her hair was slightly wild and falling from the braids in her hair. Her face was red, her eyes puffy from her crying though that didn’t stop her from frowning at the sight of him. Jon kept any of his feelings upon that reaction at bay, knowing what he had to tell her would make her happy again. He glanced over at Arya’s cot, seeing it empty.

“What do you want?” Sansa questioned. Jon glanced behind him then walked further into the tent, stopping when he was standing in front of her.

“Lady’s not dead,” Jon whispered softly.

“What?”

Jon quickly dropped to his knees, bringing him closer to her seated position. Sansa reared back in shock, her bastard brother was never familiar with her like this.

“I cut Lady free and had her and Ghost run into the woods to find Nymeria,” Jon paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, “it would only be a matter of time before they demanded Ghost’s pelt too and…you made me vow to keep Lady safe.”

Sansa sniffled softly, her eyes were wide though, and her mouth opened in shock. Jon smiled softly, hoping she believed him. Slowly, she raised her hand to her chest, closing her eyes for a moment before they fluttered open again.

“She’s not dead,” Sansa stated quietly. Jon wondered if she could feel Lady like he could Ghost. He shook his head, his heart skipping a beat when she smiled at him.

“You can’t let anybody know-Of course not!” Jon flinched at how loud her voice got, rearing back from her this time. “I won’t tell a soul,” she added in a quieter voice.

Jon nodded then stood up, putting space between them though really, he could stare into her beautiful sapphire eyes forever. She watched him carefully, her smile still on her lovely lips. “I’ll let you sleep now. See you in the morning,” he awkwardly said, giving her a half wave before heading towards the tent flap.

“Thank you, Jon.” His heart thumped faster in his chest. He couldn’t help but glance back at her to see her smile was even more significant than before; it stole his breath away. Her eyes though, they showed the sincerity of her words, looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Jon wasn’t sure how to take that, wasn’t sure how he should feel about it. He could only give her a half smile then he briskly headed to his tent.

Her bright smile and gleaming eyes stayed with him throughout the night…

\---------------------------------

Only his family noticed Ghost’s disappearance, it didn’t take either his father or Arya long to figure out what happened. His little sister was the only one to approach him on the matter to get a conclusive answer when he came to comfort her over the butcher boy’s death. His father only smiled tightly at him, his way of both approving and disapproving of his actions. Jon wondered if his father knew it was him, if that was why he went to the trouble of making the rope look as though Lady chewed her way to freedom.

Queen Cersei all but demanded they search for the wolf, while King Robert overruled her by stating they needed to continue on and that none of their men would go out to search for a damn wolf. Jon was assured that the direwolves would be safe, plus Ghost was smart, he’d make sure his sisters stayed out of trouble.

Sansa smiled at him that morning, nodding her head in acknowledgment of him and even greeting Jon in passing before they packed up to leave. Though it wasn’t his intention to gain her favor, he was happy for it; all the same.

Jon kept a closer eye on his sisters for the rest of the journey, not allowing either to venture off too far without him. It helped that both didn’t mind his presence. Sansa was more open with him than before, so much so that his heart was constantly racing and his cheeks flushing at her attention. He also noticed that Joffrey seemed less inclined to talk with Sansa or interact with her in general.

She seemed hurt by her betroths disinterest which only increased his need to show her that she didn’t need him interested in her to be happy. Sansa smiled at his awkward bumbling, giggling when he made a fool of himself and one time she kissed his cheek so sweetly, he thought he would faint.

King’s Landing was huge, larger than Winterfell. Though that did not mean it was better. Jon followed behind everyone with Jory by his side. People stopped to watch them go down the streets towards the Red Keep. It smelled like shit and piss, Jon thought, wrinkling his nose in disgust and seeing that Jory had the same look on his face. They joked about the smell as they made their way.

The Red Keep was a far better castle than the whole of King’s Landing. The architecture made Winterfell seem old-fashioned and falling apart in comparison. Jon still preferred Winterfell far more, but he appreciated the look of the Red Keep. Jon helped carry his family’s chests up to the Hand of the King’s tower where they would be staying while they remained in King’s Landing.

Sansa practically sung at the sight of their chambers, each of them was given their own. Jon felt his jaw drop at the sight of his room. It was three times bigger than the one in Winterfell. There was so much space, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He hardly had enough things to fit in the dresser provided for him. Even the view outside the tower was nice. He only had one window facing one of the outer walls that encircled Winterfell; not much of a view.

It was both strange and a nice change.

It took a fortnight before his father followed through with having him become a squire. Jon had always been shrewd, growing up as a bastard and being in the shadows helped him notice and see through other’s intentions better. It didn’t take him long to notice that his father avoided having him in the presence of King Robert. Jon wasn’t sure if it was because of his status or something else. There was always this tightness in his features whenever Jon was near King Robert in particular.

He tried to not let it bother him when finally, his father presented Jon in court to find someone who would squire him. It was embarrassing, standing there while they waited for someone to take him on. For a good minute, Jon was sure no one would come forth then one of the Kingsguard, Lord Commander Barristan Selmy came forth, telling Jon and his father that he would take him under his wing.

Both of them were relieved to have someone come forth, and his father recited how honorable Ser Selmy was, and how great of an opportunity this was to be his squire. Jon noted that Barristan Selmy was old, but he still looked strong underneath his armor and white cloak. He held himself tall and formal.

Jon thanked the Lord Commander for taking him as his squire. Ser Selmy merely smiled with his downturned, sad-looking eyes, telling him that he expected Jon to be ready the next morning for his training.

Arya was good-naturedly jealous while Sansa praised him for gaining squire-ship with someone well-respected and skilled. He started to feel better about the squiring by the way both of his sisters reacted to it.

By the next morning, Jon was more than excited to meet with Ser Selmy.

First, he was tested on his knowledge of the houses then basic knowledge before moving on to testing his abilities. Jon found that was where he shined best, showing Barristan his swift footwork and ease with a sword. The old man seemed rather pleased to see how well Jon handled himself during training. He needn’t say a word, Jon could see by the lift of his lips that he was pleased.

He still found himself watching over his sisters, learning that his father relayed this duty of his to the Lord Commander. Barristan spent the first fortnight instructing Jon on the finer duties of squiring and becoming a knight. He held his tongue when the urge to state he didn’t want to become a knight was trying to worm its way out. The old knight commented that Jon really should have been squiring much younger, but that his talents overcame his age.

He noted that Jon would do well in the upcoming Hand’s tourney.

Ned thought otherwise.

“Absolutely not! You will not participate in the tourney,” Ned declared loudly while they broke their fast. Jon merely nodded, not really wanting to participate anyway.

“Why not?!” Arya questioned for him, even Sansa seemed to want to know, watching their father intently for his answer.

“It’s far too dangerous, and Jon is not properly trained to joust, nor will I see him participate in the melee either.”

Glancing at his little sister, Jon quickly spoke when he realized she wanted to argue further, “I agree with Lord Stark. I’m not properly trained right now, maybe the next one…”

He could tell his father didn’t like the thought of him participating in any tourney, but it got Arya to stop questioning their father’s decision and eat. Jon could tell though that his little sister was feeling restless. She was vicariously living through him when she asked about his squiring every night at supper. Her eyes would twinkle as he talked about his day with Ser Selmy. He knew his father saw it too.

A week later, Arya came bounding to him and jumped into his arms as though they had not just seen each other a few hours ago. He effortlessly caught her squealing form. When she finally calmed down, she told him all about father finding Needle and being taught by Syrio Forel, a master fencer from Braavos that their father hired to train Arya. He was happy for Arya, glad to see that their father was finally allowing her to find something she is good at.

Arya had spoken numerous times of her hardships of trying to be good at feminine pursuits like Sansa. Though she’d denied it, he could tell that his little sister was envious of how easily Sansa learned the duties that every Lady must know. It was like how he was jealous of their brother, Robb and his impending lordship. There was one night in particular that she came to his chambers in Winterfell, arguing with him that she didn’t have a nightmare and that she just wanted to sleep with him because it felt safer.

Jon allowed her to win that argument, and while they laid in his bed to sleep, she told him how she wished she could be like Sansa. Arya hoped she could be what her mother and father wanted her to be, but she couldn’t, and she didn’t know why. Arya would deny it until she was blue in the face, but she cried into his chest that night over her inability to sew, sing, dance, and play an instrument. He reassured her that she didn’t need to be like Sansa to be good at those things, that she’ll eventually find what she is good at, but she seemed to think otherwise.

Truly, it was heartwarming to see her so excited and happy to learn something she wanted to learn and maybe, hopefully, be good at it too…

\---------------------------------

The Hand’s tourney was exciting, and Jon enjoyed helping Ser Selmy with his armor while he jousted. A week ago, they had gotten word that Bran was awake and talking though he would never be able to walk again. Jon had joined his father and sisters in the godswood in King’s Landing where they prayed overnight. He had barely stayed awake. That night with the moon and stars shining overhead and the Old Gods watching them behind the heart tree, Jon had vowed that he would fulfill Bran’s dream of becoming a knight, letting nothing stop him from ensuring he gained knighthood.

His little brother may never realize his dream, but Jon would try to do it for him instead. It was the least he could do.

The tourney was well on its way. Excitement was in the air and cheering echoed all around them. It was hard to feel anything but anticipation and excitement.

Jon was extremely impressed by Ser Selmy’s performance, taking out men thrice his age like flicking away an annoying fly. He was also saddened when the old knight was defeated by Jaime Lannister in his third joust. Barristan merely smiled in acknowledgment of Jaime Lannister’s victory. Jon meant to spend the rest of the day assisting the old knight, but he was sent back to sit with his family and watch the rest of the tourney.

“This is your first time witnessing such an event, go sit with your family and enjoy the rest of the day,” Ser Selmy said brightly, waving Jon off. He nodded, happy to be able to watch the rest of the jousting from a better vantage point with his family by him….

\------------

Sansa looked up from watching the clean up to see Jon maneuvering through the people sitting. She smiled at the sight of her bastard brother, turning to Arya and Septa Mordane, “could you scoot down more?”

Her sister frowned until she saw Jon then she was all but shoving the old woman aside. Jon smiled upon seeing the spot between them open up for him. Sansa returned his smile. Ever since that horrible night during the trek to King’s Landing, she found that she couldn’t help but smile upon seeing him.

Growing up, she wasn’t so sure how to take her bastard brother. He was quiet, awkward, and seldom did he smile. Sansa was never not cordial with him, but she also never went out of her way to speak with Jon on a regular basis either. Through her lessons, she knew that there was no reason for her to associate with Jon beyond their familial relations. Her mother also did not care for his presence, citing on a few occasions that Sansa keep her distance as well. She looked to her mother, wishing nothing more than to be like her in every way.

Now, Sansa wished she hadn’t taken her mother’s words to heart. When Jon told her that he had cut Lady loose before death and sent his direwolf out into the woods to accompany her, she wasn’t sure how to feel. To hear that her wolf wasn’t dead and feeling it in her heart made her immensely happy, but to learn that Jon let his own wolf go to save hers…the selfless gesture touched her heart in a way she never thought one could.

She looked back on the way she treated him in the past that night and wanted to do better in the future. Sansa wanted to know her half-brother better than she did, to know him on the same level that Arya and Robb did. She knew Jon didn’t hate her, that he kept his distance because of their social statuses and her mother’s presence. Sansa decided to change that between them, to take away the distance and embrace Jon like a trueborn brother rather than a bastard one.

His attention to her also helped to curve the sadness she felt with Joffrey ignoring her after the incident. There were moments that Sansa wished her betroth was paying her the attention as Jon did, that her blonde prince was smiling at her with that shy and awkward lift of his lips like Jon did. She wasn’t sure what the strange fluttering in her tummy meant when she saw those smiles, yet she decided to not think about it too hard though. Secretly, she liked the weird fluttering and how it only happened with Jon.

“Ser Selmy did wonderfully in the jousting,” Sansa said upon Jon seating himself between her and Arya.

“He did,” Jon agreed, glancing at Sansa briefly before turning back to the main event in front of them. She couldn’t help but stare at his side profile for a lingering moment, taking in the hair growing on his face that showed he was a man grown now.

Strangely, heat bloomed in her cheeks as Sansa assessed his features. His long Stark face didn’t look so strange as she once meanly thought before. Really, Jon was rather comely in appearance, and she wondered why she had only now noticed it.

“Jon.” Sansa jumped when their father greeted Jon while seating himself next to her. It forced her to scoot closer to her half-brother, pressing her thigh and arm snuggly against him. They both were tense for a moment, but once she relaxed did he follow suit.

“Lord Stark,” Jon greeted in return. Sansa wondered if he wished that he could call him ‘father’ instead of his title. Glancing at him, she noted that he didn’t look sad about it, but Jon was also very good at concealing his true feelings. That was something she had always known about her half-brother.

“Ser Selmy did well,” Ned commented. “I thought you would be with him for the rest of the day.”

Jon shrugged lightly, his shoulder brushing up and down Sansa’s arm that brought forth strange tingles and warmth in her arm where they touched. She could feel his heat seeping through the fabric of his jerkin. “He said there wasn’t anything more I could do for him and that I should enjoy the rest of the tourney with my family.”

“Sansa, look!” Arya suddenly called out, pointing at the center of the jousting lanes. She followed her sister’s finger to see that she was pointing to Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers they called him.

Sansa found it peculiar how once upon a time she would have been so excited to see him dressed in his colorful suit of armor, decorated with roses that were heavily associated with his House. Yet as she watched him flick his golden-brown hair back from his face, smiling broadly at the loud clapping and excitement brought upon by his appearance, Sansa realized she didn’t feel that same excitement as she once had before. She noted that he was very attractive, beautiful even, but her heart didn’t race inside her chest nor did she feel the urge to jump up along with the other fair maidens to gain his attention.

She was perfectly happy sitting snug between her father and Jon.

Arya looked at her with an arched brow. “Aren’t you going to jump up with the rest of them?” she inquired confusedly.

“I am fine remaining seated,” Sansa answered softly, avoiding eye contact with everyone around her as they all gave her varying looks. She knew it was strange and out of the ordinary for her to remain contained from showing excitement, but she couldn’t exactly show what she didn’t feel.

Loras came around, handing out white roses to many maidens. Silly as it was, Sansa still wanted a rose. Slowly, he came her way then smiled upon sighting her, pulling out a red rose and leaning over the barrier to hand it to her. She smiled brightly, vague hearing him comment on her beauty or something such as that, but her focus was more on receiving the beautiful rose than his words.

Sansa tenderly brought the rose to her face, smelling the sweet, delicate fragrance. She heard a soft huff that brought her eyes over to see Jon frowning deeply, his eyes following Loras as the knight continued down the lane before presenting himself to the King with his opponent. Did Jon not like Loras Tyrell? She was sure that he had never interacted with the knight before, but maybe there was more to the knight than she was seeing herself?

Suddenly, Jon’s eyes flickered to hers where they both seemed to stare at each other for a long minute. Sansa felt her cheeks warming while she couldn’t seem to remove her eyes from staring into his. She noticed that his cheeks were also warming into a pinkish color that was rather endearing on him. The sounds of the horns being blown at the start of the joust, brought both of them out of the strange trance they were in.

Sansa turned away, directing her eyes back on the jousting lanes. Her heart was racing like she thought it would for Loras and she felt warm and tingly on the inside. It seemed to be such an odd reaction to her half-brother, but one that she found she liked more than she probably should. Sansa pushed away her thoughts, forcing her mind to focus on the event before her.

It was probably nothing…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all like it so far! The next chapter will be posted in about a week, I'd say. I'm currently going through and adjusting the chapters and fixing things up, since initially, it was kind of rushed. Hopefully it won't come off that way now that I am revising and fixing. Hope this was everything you wanted it to be Becky!! Sorry its so damn late, hahaha. 
> 
> Let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter!! I want to say thank you so much to everyone that reviewed the first chapter!! I've been going through some...moments the last few weeks and kind of gone MIA for a bit to collect myself. I appreciate all the love and support for the story idea and hopefully y'all will love the progress in this chapter! It's definitely longer than the first as I ended up adding more to it. Literally the last portion that'll be in Jon's POV is the only part that stayed in chapter two while I ended up pushing most of it back to chapter 3 and adding everything else completely new (which means Becky doesn't know what's in it cause it wasn't something she got to revise, hehehe). 
> 
> With that said, please enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

Sansa was walking through the corridors of the Red Keep with Septa Mordane by her side. They had just visited the Throne room, discussing Sansa’s future. She painted a pretty portrait, but it left her feeling a bit ill at ease though. Joffrey had still not spoken to her since the incident at the Trident. Any time she had seen him, he had turned his nose towards her, not even wishing to bestow her a mere glance much less a kind word.

So, to hear that her husband would sit on the Iron throne made her feel rather dishearten. Would he be her husband then? Would he even want her to be his wife after what happened? Would she want him to be her husband after his treatment of her lately?

So many questions plagued her mind then when Septa Mordane stated she’d bare him sons, fear erupted further to grip tightly at her heart. But what if she didn’t? What if she only bared him daughters like Jeyne’s mother? What if she couldn’t conceive at all? She was only five and ten with her name day coming up soon, she would not be wed until she was eight and ten, but still. The what-ifs were stressing her out immensely.

Septa Mordane lead her through until they were entering the large court yard of the Red Keep. It was there, Sansa saw Jon training with Ser Selmy. She paused in her stroll, gaze locked on him as he went through his swings with a blunted sword. Ser Selmy was standing further away, watching Jon as he fought against another man.

He moved so swiftly like he was dancing rather than fighting. It made Sansa wonder why Jon never wanted to dance during feasts or never participate during lessons when they were much younger. He moved well on his feet, surely, he’d be an amazing dancer. The image of them dancing together during a feast came over her mind.

Jon would pull her far out with the long reach of his arm until her skirts lifted from the ground, spinning around her legs and his feet. Then he’d pull her in, placing one hand on her back while the other grasped sweetly to her right hand as he led her along the floor. They’d be the envy of all during such a dance.

Sansa’s cheeks flushed at the daydream while her eyes tracked Jon’s every move. Lately, she been thinking of him less and less like her half-brother, and more and more like a knight after her affections. At first, she dismissed her daydreams, they were nothing but fanciful imaginings that kept her happy when she was feeling rather stressed. Yet, as they became more and more insistent, as Jon became the knight that filled her imaginings every time…it was then she had to confront what was going on inside her head.

Clearly, she was mixing her dreams of Joffrey with how gallant and sweet her half-brother, Jon Snow was with her recently. Though if she was being truly honest, it wasn’t just recently that he’d been acting as so. If memory served her right, she could remember many times that Jon had gone out of his way for her when she requested it. He was almost always so eager to please her in anyway she saw fit. It made her wonder if it was because of how her mother treated him, or lack of therefore, really.

Did Jon want her to like him or was he wistfully trying to get her mother’s approval through her? Sansa wasn’t sure if that was truly it either. Regardless, Jon was never mean to her while she wasn’t any less courteous towards him, but she hadn’t tried to get to know him either. And now, he was all she wanted to know at times.

There were nights Sansa would stay awake, reading her fairytales and imagining it was her…and Jon instead. Vaguely, she knew this new-found infatuation was not healthy as he was her half-brother, but it was innocent. She would never try to bestow upon him a kiss on the lips like she imagined. She would never wish for him to touch her like her husband would when she was eventually married.

A tiny voice in her head called her a liar though.

“Sansa? Why have you stopped?” Septa Mordane called out, coming back to her charge. She stopped beside her, watching Jon train.

“It’s a good thing your half-brother has found himself such a gracious knight to squire him. Maybe he will make something more of himself then, something higher than a bastard can normally climb,” Septa Mordane commented quietly. Her words rubbed at Sansa and though she wished to state that Jon was very much more than his bastard status and he could become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard if he so chose, she held her tongue.

Her infatuation was only innocent as long as she knew about it.

“Jon is very capable. I’m sure he will do well and rise well above whatever lines are crossed in front of him.” She ignored the look her Septa sent her before she turned away to lead them across the courtyard.

This time it was the older woman trying to keep up with her.

She glanced back to see Jon had stopped to take a breather. Sweat was rolling down his forehead in beads and he was panting almost obscenely. Warmth tingled beneath her skin at the sight and even a curious spark grew between her thighs. Sansa turned away just as Jon looked up to see her walking away. She could even feel his gaze on her back as she left the courtyard and back into the shadow of the Red Keep’s walls…

\---------------------------------

As much as Jon enjoyed his training, he hated living in King’s Landing. He hated the lingering smell of shit and urine, he hated the ever-watchful eyes of the Southern lords and ladies, and he hated the heat, most of all.

Training underneath the blazing sun never bothered him half as much in Winterfell as it did here. The sun was hotter and caused him to sweat more profusely than before. At least in the North, the coolness of the weather helped to alleviate the heat and hold most of his sweating at bay, but down South, it seemed that was all he did was sweat. Even Arya could not stand the heat all that much.

Her water-dancing, as she called it, made her just as hot and sweaty as him, and Jon knew she didn’t train out in the sun like he did. Ser Selmy didn’t seem to notice the heat though, standing there with the sun boring down upon them and he acted like it was nothing at all. Jon vaguely wondered if he would start thinking that too, eventually.

No. Winter was in his bones, in his blood. He’d never get use to the heat down here.

Along with the heat came the sunburns, but also tans. Jon had been in his chambers, door open though he didn’t notice as he took in the way his skin was tanner around his face, neck, and arms. Robb would have full bellied laughed at him had he seen the mismatch of his skin. Maybe he should train without his tunic on? He’d seen quite a few guards do the same when training in the mid-day sun. Or maybe he should see about asking Ser Selmy to change their training time to during the early morning or late afternoon when the sun wasn’t baring down upon them?

A soft gasp drew his attention away from the full-length mirror in front of him to see Sansa standing by his door. Her face was fully red with her eyes so wide and her mouth softly open. He could practically feel her eyes roving over his body from his loosen breeches to his shirtless chest. Jon couldn’t say he didn’t like the way she was looking at him, especially with her reaction to his less than presentable body.

To break the silence between them, Jon coughed then turned his back to gesture at his neck. “Is the back of my neck red?” he inquired, lifting his curly and unruly hair up off the nape of his neck for her to see.

Sansa said nothing at first, making Jon wonder if she had even noticed that he said anything at all, but then he heard the shuffle of her slippers as she entered his chambers.

“It’s darker than the rest of you, but not red or burned. I think your hair protects it from the sun,” Sansa answered softly. Jon was about to turn around and grab a tunic when he felt her hand lightly touch his back.

He withheld a shiver at her soft touch. It was light, mostly her fingers than her entire hand as it traced down the contours of his muscles in his back. Jon said nothing as she inspected his back, trailing and tracing, brushing her ever soft fingers along his skin. It felt far to intimate to be a simple touch between siblings.

Far from innocent too.

“I saw you training earlier,” Sansa said lowly, breaking the silence between them. Her fingers never stopped though, they kept a subtle move on his skin, never stopping, never faltering. “You’re very good on your feet, it makes me wonder why you never participated in dances during the few feasts we had at Winterfell.”

Jon swallowed thickly, his throat impossibly parched, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his training in the hot sun or the gentle touch of her fingers on his back. He tried to peer over his shoulder to see her, but instead his gaze got locked on the full-length mirror where he could see Sansa perfectly behind him. Her eyes were steady and locked on his exposed skin. She seemed completely enamored with what she was doing and that did nothing good for him.

Arousal shot through his being with blood pooling lower and lower down his abdomen. This was not good, indeed.

“I’m a bastard, Sansa,” Jon rumbled out, licking at his dry lips. “No one would dance with me, even if I did know how.” He heard her scoff at his words, could see the way her bore crinkled and her lips pursed together into a frown.

“I would have.” At that, Jon turned around, taking her touch off his skin to face her properly.

“No, you wouldn’t have, but thank you for saying otherwise.”

Sansa’s eyes got trapped upon his chest where only the beginnings of hair started to grow with the majority of it conjugated south of his belly button. Much like the hair on his face, his body was growing hair slowly and inconsistently. It bothered Jon mostly because he wanted to look manly and grown, not boyish.

Sansa seemed to notice the sparseness of hair on his body though as she commented, “You’re growing chest hair like a man.”

A flush came to Jon’s face, making him realize more and more how inappropriate this whole situation was between them. She’s my sister, she shouldn’t be looking at me this way nor I to her, Jon thought.

A soft hiss escaped his lips though when she resumed her touching of his skin on his chest. Her fingertips gently brushed the curly and coarse hairs sprouting up on his chest. This time Jon had a full view of her enamored face as she took in his body further. Unfortunately, he liked it far more than he truly should.

Blood filled up his cock, straining within his breeches that were practically just hanging on his hips, untied. Sansa didn’t notice though, far too enraptured by his torso and for that, he was gratefully. When her fingertip brushed against his nipple though, that’s when he finally took some action.

Jon stepped back from Sansa, turning to pull on a different tunic from the sweat soaked one from training. He turned back to see how rosy her cheeks were as she watched him then the slip of her tongue softly wetting her lips. It practically unmanned him.

“I think you should go,” Jon grounded out, tugging his tunic lower to hide the shame in his breeches.

Sansa slowly nodded, blinking rapidly as though waking from a dream. She nodded again, glancing about herself then quite swiftly, she walked out of his chambers with his door shutting behind her.

Jon sighed deeply, brushing at his unruly hair as he felt like he was able to breath properly again. He couldn’t explain what came over his sister. Why had she touched him like that? Where was her mind as she did so? Was she thinking of him or her princely betroth?

Her mindless touching plagued him with questions, but then he had some of his own like why hadn’t he stopped her? Why hadn’t he immediately thrown another tunic on when he noticed her watching him? Why had he let her continue on touching him though it was highly inappropriate of her to do so?

Why did he wish he hadn’t stopped her?

Jon groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face briefly before walking over to a bowl of water and abruptly dunked his entire head into it to try and drown out his thoughts and emotions.

It only helped to curve the blood flow to his cock, but it did nothing to stop the endless questioning going on within. It did nothing to keep him from imagining what more could have happened if he hadn’t stopped her.

It did nothing to stop the shameful affections Jon held for his half-sister…

\---------------------------------

It had already been a week and still, Sansa could not look at Jon without flushing brightly. She had no idea what came over her that day. She had come up to their rooms to grab a storybook, something to entertain herself for the afternoon with Septa Mordane visiting the Sept of Baelor. She had thought she was alone in the Hand’s Tower, but as she went pass Jon’s chambers, she saw him.

He was standing before a full-length mirror, topless and staring at himself. Sansa felt all the moisture in her mouth suddenly go dry, even swallowing was an issue. Her palms became moist in comparison, almost wet, so she absentmindedly wiped at her skirts. Jon’s torso was pale while his arms, neck and face were considerably tanner.

Sansa would have laughed had she been able to consider what she was seeing funny. But it wasn’t funny. Heat seemed to be boiling inside her as she watched him move about, lifting his arms up and even flexing the muscles in his biceps. His body was definitely manly, strong and hard looking. She wondered if his skin felt as hard as it looked.

Then Jon noticed her, but only because she gasped, and she gasped because his breeches were loose, and they had dipped lower at his movements. She could see the rim of his smallclothes underneath. A full body throb echoed within her at the sight. Her eyes roved over his body especially now that he was facing her fully. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she look away?

Jon had coughed then, quickly turning around while saying, “Is the back of my neck red?” he moved his curls up from his nape, showing her his neck. Somehow that seemed even more intimate than seeing his torso unclothed. The urge to walk closer came over her and before she knew it, she was walking into his chambers.

“It’s darker than the rest of you, but not red or burned. I think your hair protects it from the sun,” she answered softly, afraid if her voice was loudly then something would change the charged energy in the air.

It was intoxicating.

Suddenly, her fingers reached out to touch his back, to finally see if his skin was as hard as the muscles appeared to be underneath. Her answer was no, his skin was soft to the touch with hard muscle underneath. Heat burned down her chest, pooling lower and lower.

“I saw you training earlier,” she finally said, breaking the silence between them with her voice sounding low and gravelly. Her fingers traced the contours of his back, following the hard lines of muscle there. It was all she could concentrate on it seemed. Nothing else could hold her attention. “You’re very good on your feet, it makes me wonder why you never participated in dances during the few feasts we had at Winterfell.”

“I’m a bastard, Sansa,” Jon rumbled out darkly, she could practically hear the despair in his voice. It pulled at her heart. “No one would dance with me, even if I did know how.”

Sansa scoffed loudly at that. The urge to roll her eyes came over her, but she stopped herself with a crinkle of her brow as she pressed her lips into a thin line. She would have danced with him. Even before all this, she would have danced at least once with her half-brother. Sansa had danced with her other brothers, Robb, Bran, and Rickon, even Theon.

Surely, she would have provided one dance with Jon.

“I would have,” Sansa voiced in the deafening silence between them. The truth of her words must have bothered Jon because he quickly spun around, detaching her touch from his skin.

“No, you wouldn’t have, but thank you for saying otherwise.”

She held her tongue from wanting to correct him. Seeing his face, warmer than before with hints of redness along the bridge of his nose and cheeks and his eyes, somewhat sorrowful in appearance as he said those words. He thought them the truth and that bothered Sansa, but she knew no matter what she said to him, he’d never agree that what she was telling him was truth.

Her gaze trailed from his face downward, following an invisible line down his neck to his collarbones and broad shoulders to his chest with his nipples standing out and little wiry hairs sprouting around his chest. Truly, he had a man’s physique and it showed even more with how close she was to him.

“You’re growing chest hair like a man,” Sansa couldn’t help but say.

Unconsciously, she raised her hand and resumed her touching of his skin. The muscles here were far more defined than his back and they rippled delightfully at her touch. She heard him hiss upon first contact, but Jon didn’t stop her from touching him. He didn’t encourage it either, but his lack of vocal response encouraged her all the same.

Her fingertips dragged along his skin, feeling the harden muscle within and the spare hairs tickling her as she drew random lines and circles. Then her eyes were drawn to his nipple, standing up and proud, tempting her to the point that she couldn’t look away. Sansa wanted to touch his nipple, swipe her thumb across it to see how he reacted. She even wanted to taste it and that scared her because it was such a deep and irresistible want.

Her thumb reached out, swiping softly against his protruding nipple, feeling the soft yet crinkled flesh. The pad of her thumb tingled at the swipe. Jon stepped back abruptly, his lips pursed together tightly while his eyes looked slightly wild. He yanked on a tunic to hide himself from her much to Sansa’s disappointment.

“I think you should go,” Jon grounded out, looking extremely uncomfortable.

Sansa blinked rapidly as she nodded once though her mind was slow to catch up with what Jon had told her. She nodded again when she realized that she needed to leave the room. More heat burst in her face and swiftly, she turned and walked out of his chambers with a shut of his door.

What had she been thinking? Why had she allowed herself to do that? She touched him so intimately, feeling his skin and body like it was there for her alone. Sansa altogether forgot the storybook she had been intending on, instead she raced out of the Hand’s Tower as fast as she could without running.

Her mind was a whirlwind of confusing questions and disturbing answers.

What had she been thinking? She was thinking about him like a man, not like her brother.

Why had she touched him? Because she wanted too. She wanted to feel his skin underneath her fingertips, to feel the blood rushing in his veins, to feel what a man should feel like.

How could she be so intimate with her brother like that? Because she had this strange infatuation with him.

Sansa blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. What was wrong with her? She had a perfectly fine betroth yet she was having these affections for her half-brother. It was wrong and deplorable, and she liked it all the same.

That scared her most of all. She liked it all the same…

\------------

A week and a day. Sansa rubbed at her face, trying to clear her mind. A week and a day, and still she could not look Jon square in the face. They both seemed to avert their gazes when they happened to lock. Things were getting quite awkward between them especially when they had supper together and they both seemed intent on not speaking.

Arya and their father glanced between the two of them last night as she and Jon basically ate as fast as they could to escape each other’s presence. Her father had asked her before she retired to bed if she and Jon had an argument over something, but Sansa couldn’t tell him what really happened nor, could she lie either.

So, she said nothing.

Sansa wanted to talk things over with Jon, but her tongue would feel thick and she would start getting light headed when she thought to approach him. She knew she needed to apologize for her actions, but he never seemed around when she needed him alone and, of course, she couldn’t get her words to work with him.

The awkwardness was slowly killing her, she felt. It was like slowly suffocating even though there was air to breath. Sansa just wanted to get back to how they were, how they had become since the Trident incident. How they could speak to each other without this strange air between them. She missed it so much.

Even Septa Mordane had commented on the strangeness going on between her and Jon. She ignored it all the same though. She didn’t want to speak of it nor lie to her father, she certainly didn’t want to with her septa.

As they were walking the corridors, a servant dressed in Lannister coloring stopped in front of them. “Lady Sansa,” the young man greeted with a slight bow then continued, “Prince Joffrey wishes for you to dine with his family tonight. Do you accept?”

Sansa felt flabbergasted by the invitation. Her mouth opened, but no words came out as a mixture of emotions bubbled beneath the surface of her skin. He has ignored me for over three moons and now he wishes to have me dine with him? The urge to decline was strong, but the fluttering of her heart at the thought of dining with the royals had her nodding her agreement.

The servant bowed once more then left just as abruptly as he came.

Septa Mordane clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, this is wonderful! We must prepare you immediately, I’ll call for a bath and we must decide on the perfect dress!”

Sansa allowed her septa to drag her along as she talked about how they would do her hair and what dress would be perfect for the occasion. She felt none of the excitement the older woman felt though. The mere fluttering in her heart stopped the moment she accepted the invite. Now she felt tense and odd like her skin didn’t quite feel right on her body.

Maybe the bath will help? Sansa hoped.

She spent the rest of her time bathing and preparing for the dinner. Nerves were making her stress as she was changed into a beautiful light pink dress with long sleeves that were flowy yet elegant. It was simple in its design, but stylish as well. She hoped that Cersei, the Queen liked it. There was a pause in that thought process though as she was getting her hair pulled and braided.

Why did she hope Cersei would like it? If not for her wanting a wolf’s pelt then Lady would still be here beside her, instead of out in the wild with her sister and brother. Then Sansa’s mood plummeted as she remembered that afternoon all too well.

The drinking of wine with Joffrey though she knew she shouldn’t. Arya playing with the butcher boy then Joffrey trying to defend her honor from that boy. Sansa sat there thinking about what happened, her mind going over the fact that Arya had always played with the boys roughly. That was the norm for her and even she wasn’t worried for Arya when they came upon her.

It had been Joffrey that thought otherwise. It was gallant of him, she knew, but his intervention made the situation worse, didn’t it? A particular tug on her hair pulled her from her thinking as her maid pulled her hair up into an elaborate style that was popular in the South. Sansa subtly rubbed at her scalp as the older woman finished.

Thinking about the past was only going to upset her and she was nervous enough as it was. So, Sansa pushed away her earlier thoughts, instead focusing on nothing but happy thoughts and the discussions to be had during dinner.

“Dressing up for dinner?” Ned asked, confusion scrunching his face. Sansa turned around to smile at her father.

“Yes. I was invited by Prince Joffrey to dinner with his family tonight. How do I look?” Sansa stood up quickly, doing a little twirl for her father. She smiled brightly up at him, feeling so pretty and like a princess.

Ned smiled broadly at her, nodding his head. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.

“Thank you, father!” She came up to him, pulling him down so she could press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Will you escort me?” she asked next, fluttering her eyes happily at him.

He shook his head though. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I have some work that needs to be done with the council tonight. I was coming back to let everyone know I wouldn’t be here for dinner.”

“Oh, okay.” She felt a bit deflated by his answer, but she supposed she could be escorted by Jory instead.

“How about Jon does it in my stead?” Ned questioned, turning away to call out to Jon. Sansa flushed deeply, but held her tongue from telling her father not to ask.

A part of her wondered if Jon would escort her to dinner. That small part seemed to hope he would agree and would be vastly devastated if he declined. With her heart pounding in her chest, she walked out of her chambers where Jon was in the sitting room by the hearth. He was listening to the question their father was asking him, but his eyes immediately caught sight of her and stayed.

“Oh uh,” Jon stuttered, realizing father had finished talking to him. “Yes, I can.”

Sansa smiled almost shyly at his answer. Ned gave Jon a pat on the shoulder then kissed Sansa on the top of her head before grabbing what he needed and leaving them alone. That’s when the air between them became slightly awkward once more.

“So, um…it’s about time for supper, could you escort me now?” Sansa mumbled, pressing her once more sweaty palms against her skirt. Jon was just staring though and bluntly at that.

She arched a brow at him and it was then he seemed to notice that she asked him something. “What was that?” he croaked awkwardly.

“We need to go now, Jon,” Sansa stated lightly. He nodded, pushing to stand then walked over to offer his arm to her. She smiled, placing her hand lightly around his elbow then they were walking out of the room together.

They walked in silence, but the further along they went, the less awkward it became. It was even bordering on comfortable, Sansa mused. She glanced over to see Jon staring straight ahead, shoulders stiff and jaw set. He looked like a guard on duty. She couldn’t help but release a small laugh at him.

“What is funny, my lady?” Jon japed, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“You look like a man on a mission is all,” she answered with a wave of her free hand. She noted the smile on his lips then the ease in his shoulders as he started to relax.

Sansa came to realize that her heart was pounding rather loudly inside her chest, but it wasn’t from the impending dinner she was to attend, but the closeness with Jon. Part of her wished she didn’t feel these strange feelings for Jon, that she only regarded him like a brother like she should, but another part of her was thrilled by it all. There was something alluring about the whole situation that made her feel different than with Joffrey.

But was that really a good thing?

“Are you nervous?” Jon asked as they got closer to the Royal rooms. Sansa assessed her feelings for a moment then lightly shrugged her shoulders.

“A little. I’m worried I won’t have anything to talk to Prince Joffrey about. What if he doesn’t like me? Or doesn’t think I look pretty?” Sansa flinched at the whiny tone she inflicted. She didn’t want Jon thinking her a spoiled whiny brat.

Jon stopped then, bringing them to a halt in the hallway. No one was around as he turned to her, locking gazes. “You’ve nothing to worry about. If he doesn’t like you then he’s an idiot.” Sansa gasped his name, but he ignored it to continue, “and if he doesn’t find you beautiful then he’s blind too. Anyone with eyes can see how beautiful you are, Sansa.”

With their eyes locked together, it was hard for her not to notice a heat in his gaze. It was molten and dark, sending an all-consuming heat to flash through her body. Jon truly thought that of her, didn’t he? Sansa licked her dry lips; a little tremor ran through her when she noticed his eyes dropping down to watch her tongue disappear. Suddenly, she thought that having such long sleeves on her dress was a bad idea as she was now burning hot.

They stood there for a long moment, far longer than was necessary then Jon seemed to come back to the present. He nodded clumsily, coughed harshly from his throat then proceeded to escort her the rest of the way in silence.

As they reached the door where she would be attending dinner, Sansa gave Jon’s arm a tight squeeze. She turned to him and smiled her brightest smile.

“Thank you, Jon. For escorting me and making me feel less nervous.” He nodded stiffly, but his lips lifted into a slight smile. Gathering up her courage, Sansa held tight to his arm, using it as leverage to lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek like she did to their father’s.

The only difference was that her kiss to Jon was closer to his lips where a slight brush of her bottom lip touched his. Jon pulled back quickly, shaking his arm free from hers with a red face. He opened his mouth as though to say something to her, but then thought better of it and nodded to her instead.

Sansa watched as Jon walked away, leaving her to knock on the door before her and enter on her own. She smiled softly to herself as she waited, her lips tingling at the brief touch of his skin and bottom lip. She wondered what he thought, if he thought that Sansa had done it on purpose, truly she hadn’t; it was nothing but a happy accident. One that she found she wanted to happen again.

The door opened slowly by a servant after a single knock. He bowed his head in greeting, waving Sansa in. She smiled politely then entered the room, taking note of the beautiful furnishings decorating the entry way. The colors were of reds and golds, Lannister colors. Red drapes with golden threads and light golden-brown wood accents.

There was nothing Baratheon about it.

Upon rounding the corner though, she found her prince standing near the wall, fixing the cuff of his doublet. Sansa felt the air deplete from her lungs. Even though she was having mixed feelings regarding his recent distance, she couldn’t help the fluttering of her heart as she took in his golden blonde hair, green eyes and beautiful face. He was quite handsome in such a princely way, very much the opposite in how handsome Jon was.

Jon had a rugged look to him. He was all hard edges and angles from his jawline to his nose to the darkness of his hair and grey eyes. Joffrey, in comparison, was softer, rounder where Jon was harder with a lightness of his features that made Jon’s appearance even more harsh in contrast. Still, her lips tingled even as she took in her prince. Sansa wondered if her lips would feel the same if she would have a kiss from Joffrey instead.

As she opened her mouth to greet him, Joffrey seemed to finally notice her. Instead of a smile and sweet greeting as she had hoped, he looked mildly confused, his face twisting into a scowl. “What are you doing here?” he asked rudely.

Sansa felt all the air leave her lungs as fear erupted inside her chest. What? She gripped at her skirts to keep her hands steady as he arched a brow at her. “You invited me to supper,” she finally uttered, her voice sounding small and feeble.

Joffrey scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

“But I…I was invited…”

“Are you stupid? I just said I didn’t invite you. I don’t know why you are here, but you should leave. Now.” Sansa stumbled slightly back, stunned at the anger and irritation in Joffrey’s face as he spoke to her.

Memories of how he acted at the Trident came over her. This wasn’t him hurt, both ego and physically, this was Joffrey being Joffrey. The naïve girl in her wanted to argue that she must have misheard the servant earlier that day, surely it was her mistake, but the wolf in her growled back that it was no mistake. He didn’t want her there and he hadn’t invited her either.

Tears welled up in her eyes from both sadness and frustration. She should have declined the offer, she should have stayed back and had supper with Arya and Jon.

Turning away, Sansa discreetly wiped at her wet eyes with her long sleeves. She moved to leave, wishing to be around her siblings, wishing to hear Jon tell her how much of an idiot Joffrey was.

“There you are. Supper is being served, come and sit.” Sansa halted upon hearing Queen Cersei behind her. Quickly patting down her eyes, she turned to see the Queen standing beside Joffrey, giving him a narrowed eye look that he wrinkled his nose at before they both looked at her.

“But I…Prince Joffrey said he didn’t invite me,” Sansa said softly, heart pounding an aching rhythm.

“Oh, but he did,” Cersei insisted, turning her sharp green eyes on her son. Joffrey rolled his eyes rather bluntly.

“Right, I must have forgotten,” he commented, turning away and leaving Sansa standing there with his mother watching her with those same sharp eyes.

“Come along, before the food gets cold.”

Sansa swallowed the fear burrowing inside her chest. She willed her eyes to remain dry and portrayed the strength that she knew she had as a Stark. Be brave like Robb, she thought sternly, following Cersei further into the rooms where a long, wooden table was set up with plates upon plates of food. It smelled delicious, but she had no appetite.

Princess Myrcella and little Prince Tommen were already seated at the table, waiting patiently for everyone to sit. Sansa noted that King Robert was no where to be found and that Cersei sat at the head of the table where the king would have been. She found that quite odd, but her children seemed to think nothing of it. Joffrey sat at Cersei’s right with Myrcella beside him, so Sansa sat down opposite the golden-haired girl with Tommen on her right.

A few servants came around, serving food on each of their plates and filling their glasses with red wine. Sansa swallowed at the thickness inside her throat, she really didn’t want to be here anymore. She wished she had been far quicker in her leave, maybe she would have been walking back to the Hand’s Tower by now instead of sitting here with such a tense air around them.

“Lady Sansa, how are you liking King’s Landing?” Cersei inquired after a long sip of her wine. Sansa glanced between her filling plate and the Queen; she could feel the eyes of everyone on her and that did nothing to squash her fear.

“It’s beautiful, your grace. The Red Keep is magnificent, and the weather is very lovely, far different than in Winterfell,” Sansa remarked, hoping her smile looked less tight than it felt on her face.

“Yes, it was rather dreary up North,” Cersei commented dryly, taking another long sip of her wine glass before finally setting it down to eat. Sansa slightly bristled at the comment.

Sure, the weather up North wasn’t always agreeable, but she wouldn’t call the weather dreary.

“It was terrible, muddy, cold, and dank. We couldn’t leave fast enough,” Joffrey stated abruptly, biting into a chicken leg like a starving dog. Sansa swallowed at the sight, pushing around her green beans before trying in vain to shove some down her own throat.

“Mind your manners.” She heard Cersei grumble to Joffrey and clearly it was to him as both his younger siblings ate much slower with regards to table manners.

“I wish we could have seen the snow fall while we were there. That would have been nice!” Myrcella said softly, smiling wistfully as she thought of snow.

Sansa latched onto her comment, happy to find something positive to respond to. “Yes, it is nice. It can get quite cold, but when the snow falls and it’s all quiet but for the wind. It is like you are in a different world.”

Joffrey snorted, but Myrcella gasped, leaning over her food to stare into Sansa’s eyes. “Really? I’ve never seen snow fall before, I’ve barely seen enough to play in, actually.”

She nodded at the younger girl then Tommen commented, “I wish we got snow down in King’s Landing.”

“Why?” Joffrey asked bitingly, arching a brow high up his forehead while giving his little brother quite the look. Sansa managed to get down some chicken with the help of the red wine, but it tasted like nothing and made her stomach grumble unhappily.

“Uh well…” Tommen stuttered pifitfully, glancing away from his older brother’s stern stare while floundering for something to say.

Sansa couldn’t help but pipe up, “You can build men out of snow, castles and forts, and even make balls of snow to toss at others. It’s cold and can hurt a little, but it’s all in good fun.”

“Sounds childish and stupid,” Joffrey grumbled into his wine glass. Tommen gave her a tiny smile before going back to his food without further comment.

Tension started to rise as they ate. Sansa was still forcing herself to eat, tasting none of it, and wishing to leave as soon as possible. The more she sat there watching the Baratheon family interact, the more she realized how amazing her family truly was. Joffrey was rather mean, commenting that things were stupid left and right while Tommen barely spoke because of the ridicule he would receive from his elder brother. Myrcella faired better, but she only spoke a little more than her younger brother.

Then there was Queen Cersei.

She sat at the head of the table, drinking not one, not two, but three glasses of wine before their dinner was even over. Sansa had barely made a dent in her glass during that time. She felt so uncomfortable and uneasily. Why had she been so excited to be here? Why hadn’t she declined the invitation?

“You’re wearing a lovely dress, Lady Sansa, did you make this one too?” Cersei inquired, staring down at her with those harsh green eyes. Her long fingers rubbed up and down the stem of her wine glass as she waited for a response back.

“Yes, your grace, it’s far better than my other dress back in Winterfell,” Sansa answered softly, placing her hands in her lap as she was done trying to force food down her throat.

“The fabrics nice, what is it primarily made of?” Sansa licked her dry lips, hating how a fluttering of excitement bubbled in her stomach.

She had no one to truly appreciate her work. Both Jon and her father would compliment her, but they didn’t understand the intricate details and Arya couldn’t be bothered to care if she didn’t have too. Septa Mordane was about the only one who showed interest beyond the appearance of her dresses. It made her happy to have at least someone show an interest, even if it was from someone like her.

“Mostly wool, but there is cotton mixed in to make the dress lighter for warmer weather in the North and the lacing is silk my mother gave me. It took longer to stitch, but-Who cares!?” Sansa stopped abruptly as Joffrey spoke over her.

He practically threw himself back in his chair while crossing his arms over his chest. “Really? Who cares!? This talk bores me! It’s not like the dress is all that pretty to begin with; ugly in fact. You should give her some advice on dressing better, mother.”

Sansa felt all the color in her face slip away, draining out of her skin. Hurt rippled across her nerves as her eyes unwillingly watered. He thought her dress was ugly? She had worked on it for hours upon hours with no direction from her mother or septa. It was all her vision, her idea of the perfect dress though simple as it was, and her hands that trembled and hurt from the time she put in to make it. Her fingers dug and gripped at her skirts as along with the hurt came anger.

_“You’ve nothing to worry about. If he doesn’t like you then he’s an idiot, and if he doesn’t find you beautiful then he’s blind too. Anyone with eyes can see how beautiful you are, Sansa.”_

Sansa took a deep breath to settle her nerves and anger. Jon was right, Joffrey was an idiot. He wouldn’t know pretty or beautiful if it slapped her across the face. The wolf in her growled, almost sounding like Lady when she was approached by someone she didn’t know back at Winterfell. She had been nothing but a small pup still, but her growl sounded like a giant beast, warning the strange man away.

Even though Lady wasn’t there physically, it was like Sansa could feel her instead. A light grey direwolf, standing taller than before behind her, growling in her ear and watching over her shoulder at Joffrey. She felt soothed by the feeling of safety, calming her completely to respond to Joffrey’s mean words.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, my prince. I think my dress is very pretty and your mother thought so too, considering she complimented me on it. It is more of the Northern style though, so I can understand your disagreement, that doesn’t necessarily mean it is ugly though.” Joffrey scowled deeply at her response, looking at her like he wished to throw something at her.

Sansa reminded unaffected by his looks, turning to smile sweetly if not falsely at the Queen. “Thank you for the lovely dinner and for inviting me, but it is getting late and I feel tired. Would you find it rude if I were to depart now?”

Cersei didn’t look entirely pleased, but she waved her hand, stating that Sansa was free to leave. She commented that Joffrey should really escort her back, but Sansa was quick to fib and say that she had someone waiting for her instead.

The moment she was left alone out in the halls, she practically broke into a run. Her slippers slapped lightly against the stone flooring as she ran through the endless halls back to the Hand’s Tower and the safety of her chambers. She had been almost there when she rather abruptly slammed into a hard body, bouncing off of whomever it was and landing painfully on her rump.

“Trying to learn how to fly, little bird?” Sansa blinked as she took in Sandor Clegane standing with her with his face twisted into an ugly frown as his eyes glared down at her.

“I’m sorry, Ser Clegane, I didn’t see you coming around the corner,” she apologized quickly, standing up by herself as he hadn’t moved nor offered her a hand up.

“You should pay better attention. Many men walk these halls and many of them wouldn’t mind having you ram into them if they can ram back.” Sansa flinched at his harsh words, her stomach twisting as she realized what he meant by other men ‘ramming’ back.

“Then I should take my leave back to my chambers quickly,” Sansa said, quickly bowing her head to him to continue around. She stopped just as fast when his hand snatched her arm tightly, holding her in place.

“You shouldn’t walk these halls alone.” Sansa winced at the hard grip on her upper arm, wishing he would let go. Surely, there’ll be a bruise there come morning.

“I’m almost there,” she answered lamely, wiggling her arm to get him to let go, but his hand seemed to refuse to let her go.

Sandor merely rolled his eyes at her, keeping his tight hold then proceeded to practically walk her down the hall, intending to escort her in his strange, painful way. She kept quiet during the walk and a minute in, he released her from his grip. Her arm throbbed painfully, but she refused to touch it and show him weakness.

The walk was tense, about as tense as the dinner she was running away from. They came across a few men and vaguely, Sansa considered that maybe having Sandor with her wasn’t such a bad thing. She could feel eyes roving over her form as they walked by, but with the intimidating Hound by her side, no one approached them as they would had she been alone.

It wasn’t like Winterfell where she could roam unattended within the Keep with no worry of being harassed or otherwise. Sansa subtly shivered as she realized how dangerous King’s Landing truly was. It was more than meets the eye and she felt rather blinded by not realizing it.

Once they ascended the stairs, she started to feel less tense and when they stepped over the last step, Sansa felt even more at ease as the door to the Hand’s chambers appeared down the hall. She glanced at her silent companion, noting that he looked annoyed, but she wondered how much of that was an act. Sandor tried to be this horrible monster like his face portrayed, yet he did things like this, escorting her back to her chambers at night instead of continuing on his way like she thought he would.

It was like he said one thing yet did the opposite. He didn’t believe in the goodness of people and knights, yet he did do good things though they were subtle it seemed. Sansa wondered how much he truly believed in what he said himself.

“Thank you, ser Clegane for escorting me,” Sansa said softly, turning to him with a smile. He merely snorted with a roll of his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up and get inside,” he growled, turning from her to start his trek back to where he was originally going. Before she would have flinched at his mean words and feel hurt by them, but now, she saw them for what they were. Advice and his own way of accepting her ‘thank you’.

Upon entering, she found that her father’s door was still open, meaning he wasn’t back while Jon and Arya’s doors were shut. The urge to knock on Jon’s door and tell him how right he was about Joffrey was strong, but so was how tired she was from dealing with all that tension. Not to mention her head was hurting from the tightness of her braids and updo.

So, instead, she entered her own chambers and got ready for bed, but with a new revelation. Joffrey was not who she thought he was and the same went for Cersei as well. The Baratheon prince was not gallant or handsome, he was mean and ugly and horrid. Jon and Arya were right about him.

And as this new revelation continued, Sansa realized another horrible realization; she was stuck in her betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon and there was nothing she could do about it…

\---------------------------------

Tenses seemed to be running high lately, or so Jon had noticed. Everyone seemed rather oblivious to it though. He hated being around court, but Arya wanted to watch as their father sat the Iron throne in replacement for King Robert. He could admit that he felt a sense of pride to see their father there, but the throne was ugly, and Ned looked uncomfortable for more than one reason. He also noted that Sansa was standing by Septa Mordane, watching as their father presided over the court and listened to the petitioners and their grievances.

It was only a week earlier that Jamie Lannister had attacked Eddard Stark. At least, that was the rumor though no one knew for sure. Jon had tried to get a straight answer out of his father when he and his sisters visited him as he was bedridden, but he wouldn’t say. Jory and many more men had lost their lives and Jon couldn’t understand why his father wouldn’t included him in what was happening.

Jon tried reasoning with his father, telling him that he was there to help him, but he couldn’t if Ned refused to let him in. The most he got was that it was a dangerous time for them and they needed to keep their noses down to the ground.

“Watch over your sisters, Jon. That is what you can do for me right now,” Ned had said to him a few days ago as he was coming off his medicine and moving around a bit.

Jon bit his tongue to keep from arguing further. It would be of no use and his father was in enough pain and stress, no need to add more to it.

Listening into the hearings, he noticed his father restraining himself from touching his aching, broken leg. It had been bothering him a lot, but he refused to take anything for the pain. He wanted to be lucid and clear, and Jon wouldn’t fault him that, but as he had told him so long ago that there was no shame in admitting to not being prepared for the Night’s Watch then his father should know there was no shame in admitting he needed something to manage his pain.

Ned frowned deeply as three knights told him about several villages being ravaged by an enraged Ser Gregor Clegane in the Riverlands. Jon found it strange that the man called the Mountain would go to such an extent for no true reason. It was obvious there was more going on, but did his father know or was he just as clueless as the rest. Ned looked tired and aggravated, taking to action that the elder Clegane be taken cared of for his wrong doings.

He wondered what the Hound thought of his brother’s actions?

Jon glanced over to see that Sansa had moved from her Septa’s side, getting closer to where he and Arya stood. Their little sister saw her just as he did.

“What’s she doing?” Arya mumbled to Jon before Sansa had reached them. He merely shrugged his confusion.

“Jon, Arya,” Sansa greeted softly, standing close to them to be heard where they stood without disrupting the petitioners. Jon noticed that she stood rather close to him, her lemon clean scent wafting to his nose and invading his senses.

He felt a clenching in his stomach at her scent, it was so alluring to him and he wished it wasn’t though. Lately, Sansa had seemed more and more entrancing than before, ever since she touched his naked skin the way she had, she was all he could think about. The enamored look on her face, the way she pursed her plump lips together in thought, and those beautiful sapphire eyes of hers that seemed to just bore right into his very soul. It was attraction, full-blown attraction and Jon couldn’t be anymore disgusted with himself than he was as he realized why he found her entrancing.

He had always thought her lovely and beautiful before now. Sansa was everything he would hope a wife could be for him, but Jon had always known would never happen. No lady such as on Sansa’s level would ever stoop so low as to see him for anything but his bastard status.

So, Jon lied to himself, telling himself he would never want some willowy figure in a tower, waiting for someone to rescue her. He told himself he liked a woman who could take care of herself, who could fight for what she wanted just as physically as any man could. And maybe, he wished for some extent that a woman he would fall for would have a bit of those attributes, but Jon loathed to admit that he admired the other much womanly attributes as well.

The graceful way Sansa held herself, her soft, small hands, her gentle smiles, and beautiful voice. Truly, she was a lady through and through. And she was off-limits to him as she was his half-sister.

His feelings and thoughts always gave him pause and wonder why he never felt such a thing for his younger sister, Arya. They got along so well, enjoyed the same physical pursuits, and humor, yet, Arya never made Jon feel like he did now with Sansa beside him. It was attraction. That was the difference, he realized. Somehow, someway, attraction had grown on his side for her even though she was his half-sister, half his blood.

Jon felt sick, disgusted, but that didn’t stop the way he felt. It didn’t stop the dreams that involved her in a sexual matter, and it didn’t stop the way his nerves tightened and tingled when she was near. Feelings don’t seem to acknowledge familial relations, apparently.

“Father looks tired,” Sansa finally said, leaning further towards Jon so that her arm was gently touching his. He hated to say that he was savoring the feeling more than he should.

“He hasn’t been sleeping,” Jon replied quietly. Both his sisters arched their brows at him. “My chamber is next to his, so I can hear him pacing even though he shouldn’t with his broken leg.”

“I’m worried about him,” Sansa admitted.

“Me too,” Arya added, glancing back at their father briefly. “I think he wants to go home, and I do too.”

“But we can’t.” Arya rolled her eyes at her sister.

“We could if you weren’t betrothed to the prince,” she sneered angrily. Jon placed his hand on her shoulder to settle her and have her mind her voice.

“Sansa’s right and so are you, Arya. Right now, we are stuck here for the time being. The best we can do is stay out of everyone’s way and mind ourselves for Lord Stark’s sake,” Jon stated sternly, glancing between the two.

Sansa sighed, turning her eyes downward to the stone flooring. “What if…I don’t wish to be betrothed to the prince?”

Jon jolted at Sansa’s admission. She didn’t look to be lying either and when her eyes reached up to connect with his, Jon had to hold his breath. Her blue eyes were sad appearing, glistening though she was not crying and so very vulnerable. They stared at each other far longer than was necessary until Arya spoke out, “Well then we should tell father, so we can go home.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Arya,” Sansa insisted, drawing her gaze towards her sister.

“If you don’t want to marry then you shouldn’t have too! We should be able to make our own decisions!” Arya all but stomped her feet, drawing attention to them.

Jon turned both of them away from court, walking them further through the crowd until they were near the back where no one could hear them. His hand burned where it touched Sansa’s shoulder, even a bit of her skin was being brushed by his calloused fingers, it reminded him of a few weeks ago with her fingers on his body, dancing along his skin in wonder. Her skin was soft and sweet to the touch. Oh, how he wished he could touch her more, maybe even place a gentle kiss there, between her shoulder and neck.

Internally, Jon groaned.

“Only the King can break a betrothal,” Jon started, dropping his hands from both of their shoulders. “Unless either Sansa or the prince are founded with fault, there isn’t any other way to break it.”

“I wish we could be home with mother, Robb, Rickon, and Bran. I wish we had Nymeria, Lady, and Ghost with us too,” Sansa voiced sadly, turning into Jon to press her forehead against his shoulder.

Jon swallowed thickly, his breath locking inside his throat. He moved a hand to rest on Sansa’s back, but that only drew her further into him until she was resting against his chest with her face hidden from the world. Lightly, her shoulders were shaking, telling him that she was silently crying.

He turned to Arya to find her frowning deeply, her forehead wrinkled with worry. It was the first time he had ever seen his little sister worry over Sansa. Sure, as they’ve gotten older, their differences had been somewhat worked out (though not entirely), but they had been at such strains with each other during their time in King’s Landing. It was strange yet reassuring that they were acting as sisters once more.

If only their father could see it.

“Maybe…maybe if we talk through it to father…” Jon swallowed harder when Sansa pressed further into him, her arms moving to wrap around his waist to clutch at his back.

Arya nodded her agreement, frowning still at Sansa then glancing back to where their father sat the Iron throne. Jon followed her gaze as the thought came to him that no Stark should ever want to sit on that horrid thing, no matter how pride he had felt in the beginning at seeing his father on it. It seemed to bring nothing but destruction and greed for whomever sat upon it. Eddard Stark was not that man and clearly did not enjoy being seated there either.

As the petitioners finished up, Septa Mordane found them near the back, clicking her tongue at Sansa for leaving her behind. She frowned deeply at the way Sansa was curled up into Jon’s chest. She quickly composed herself though, smiling almost shyly towards him once she pulled away.

“Come girls, we have lessons,” Septa Mordane said, waving Arya and Sansa away. His little sister groaned, grumbling about the lessons she would be forced to partake while Sansa glanced back at him as they left.

Jon waited until his father was hobbling down from the throne to speak with him. He noted that the master of coin, Petyr Baelish lingered about. His face twisted in an ever-present smirk. A schemer if there ever was one, Jon thought. He ignored the smaller man though, meeting his father half way.

“I don’t like that your sisters were here to listen at court today,” Ned grumbled crabbily, reaching down slightly to touch his thigh where his leg ached.

“Septa Mordane brought Sansa, I only came on my own and found Arya there.” Ned nodded, leading the way out as fast as he could. Jon couldn’t very well blame him either. The Throne room always felt suffocating to him and he was sure his father felt the same way.

“How is your training coming along?” Ned asked tiredly, nodding his head to Petyr Baelish as they walked by him. Jon didn’t like that man one bit.

He didn’t like his smirking face, his scheming eyes, nor the way he looked at Sansa whenever she was around him. She had never said anything to him, but he could tell she was very uncomfortable around the smaller man. Even Jon felt uncomfortable around him. He didn’t like that his father acknowledged the other man. Baelish was not someone who could be trusted, Jon just knew it.

“It’s going well, I’ve gotten quicker and steadier in my offensive positions. I could probably take Robb down now if he were here,” Jon commented though he felt no sense of happiness in saying so. Talking of Robb only made him wish they were going back to Winterfell, just like Arya and Sansa wanted.

“That’s good to hear, Jon.” They paused at the large set of stairs that led up to the Hand’s Tower. Jon glanced at his father to see him mentally preparing himself to take the steps up.

As they slowly, but surely made their way up the stairs, Jon tried to think of how to broach the subject of Winterfell and his sisters’ feelings of wanting to go home. Ned was panting lightly as they ascended the stairs, grasping tightly at both his cane and the banister. At one point they had to stop for him to catch his breath.

Finally, once they reached their rooms, Jon had gained the courage to finally speak his words.

“Lord Stark, I was talking to Arya and Sansa and…we all want to go home.” Jon watched as Ned stop hobbling ahead of him, pausing in his pursuit of the armchair near the hearth. He turned around to peer over his shoulder at Jon.

“Is that so?” he questioned then continued his trek until he was seeping into the armchair with a deep sigh from taking his weight off his aching leg.

Jon approached slowly, standing before his father with his arms placed behind his back. “Yes. Arya and I miss our brothers and the snows, but also our wolves. And Sansa…” Jon paused a moment, taking a deep breath, “she doesn’t wish to be wed to Joffrey Baratheon anymore.”

Ned arched his brows in surprise. “Sansa begged her mother for this betrothal, but now she doesn’t want it?”

“Aye. I think the incident at the Trident opened her eyes, but the prince hasn’t even spoken to her since arriving at King’s Landing and even after that dinner she went to, she’s been pretty quiet and…withdrawn. I think…it was a bad arrangement.”

“It is not exactly easy to break a betrothal, Jon. You know that and so should Sansa.” Jon nodded his understanding. “I don’t know if I can convince Robert to break it either. He wouldn’t even let me resign from being Hand.”

“What?” Jon was quick to question, this being the first he had heard of such a thing. Ned groaned, realizing his slipup. “What do you mean he wouldn’t let you resign? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Calm down, Jon.”

“No! You asked me to come down here to help you, yet you shut me out continuously! Tell me what is going on, father! Tell me what I can do to help you! Please!” Jon pleaded, staring into his father’s grey eyes.

Finally, Ned nodded, sighing again and turning his head over to stare into the hearth. “Alright, sit down. It’s going to be long…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...things got a little out of hand when Sansa caught Jon sans tunic, lol. I really wasn't intending for that scene to go the way it did. I had just finished writing the beginning portion with Sansa and Septa Mordane and my fingers just kept writing until it became a bit more sexually charged than I meant it too, hence why a lot of the chapter got shifted about on my end. Then I realized I had to put Sansa's POV on that whole thing because y'all had to know what she was thinking and then I didn't want to end it there so I came up with the dinner with Joffrey, so it'd be more realistic as to why Sansa suddenly doesn't want to be betrothed to him anymore in the last scene (the original scene of the whole chapter). It was a lot of going back and forth to fix continuing errors and such then I kind of went into a hermit/depressive state where I couldn't really write or want to interact with ppl in general so...sorry for the lateness of this chapter.
> 
> Also, to address Sansa's shift in personality, obviously Jon being there and everything has shifted it, but also take into account that Lady is still alive and I kind of alluded to it during the dinner, but she's the wolf inside Sansa in a sense. That's where Sansa will gain her strength and will power as Lady is alive and a bond that reminds her of her roots (North, Stark). I don't know if anyone would pick that up, so I am deciding to be transparent here, lol.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed and let me know whatcha think?! ^_~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Does a little dance* Chapter 3 is done!! Woot Woot!! 
> 
> This whole chapter was written from scratch and I am very proud of it! Thanks so much y'all for reviewing and letting me know what you like and all that! Seriously, makes my day!! 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

The next few days after Ned had finally let Jon into what was going on were filled with tension. Jon hadn’t slept the first night as he tried to wrap his head around all the information that was given to him. Bran was almost assassinated? Lady Stark kidnapped Tyrion Lannister? Jon Arryn was murdered and that’s why his father took the position of Hand to investigate it? Jon Arryn was looking into King Robert’s bastards?

It was a lot to take in. Ned told him everything then had him swear he’d not tell his sisters. Jon thought that was a rather stupid decision to make, they both deserved to know the truth, but he had to swear. His father did promise that he would talk to King Robert once he was back from his hunt about breaking the betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey.

At least Jon was able to relay that to Sansa. She smiled brightly, clapping her hands together. Arya crossed her fingers in hopes that they could get Sansa’s betrothal turned over and they could go back to Winterfell; back home.

It was two days later that Jon was approached by Ned, his face twisted into a harsh frown that didn’t look right on his face. Jon had been sitting in his chambers, reading a book that Ser Selmy had given him on the history of squiring and such. He found it rather tedious and boring but promised he would skim through it; at the very least.

“Jon,” Ned greeted quickly, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. Jon immediately picked up on the urgency in his father’s voice, quickly setting aside his book to give his full attention to his father. “I’m going to have a ship prepared in a few days, you and your sisters will be on that ship to White Harbor and from there, to Winterfell.”

“You broke the betrothal with Joffrey?” Jon questioned in happiness but faltered when his father’s face grimaced at the mention of the blonde prince. Then he remembered that King Robert was still on his hunt.

“No, something else came up. It’s not safe for any of you to be here right now,” Ned stated sternly, reaching up to rub at his strained brow.

“What came up?” Jon asked lowly, gripping at the arms on his chair. His father looked away, turning towards the door. “What came up, Lord Stark?” he tried again, pushing to stand up and level their gazes.

“I can’t tell you.” Jon clenched his hands into fists, anger growing by the second.

“Why not?! I thought we established that I am here to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me anything! You’ve already told me everything two days ago, so what is different now?! Tell me, father!”

“Its for your safety that I don’t! Do not test me right now, Jon! Listen to what I told you, keep your head down and nose to the ground! Now, I’m going to go and tell your sisters, make sure you’re packed.”

Jon watched as Ned turned away, leaving him standing there in his anger, boiling inside. The urge to grab something and throw was strong, but he wasn’t a child anymore and throwing a tantrum was unseemly even for a bastard. Breathing slowly, he thought of Ser Selmy and his teachings, drawing in his anger to bring a sense of calm over him.

It took a minute, but once he was done, Jon felt far better though annoyance at his father’s stubbornness and a bit of hurt still lingered about. Was he not worthy of his father’s trust? Why did Jon feel like he had to constantly beg his father for information? Was it because he was the bastard son? Jon shook his head, running a hand through his wild hair and pushing back the insecurities that wished to run rampant in his mind. He left his chambers to find Sansa and Arya sitting by the hearth as their father restated the plan to them.

Varying degrees of happiness came across their faces. Arya seemed to shake and bounce in her seat while Sansa sat completely still, her eyes on their father as he spoke. Jon could tell she was sensing his unease beneath his stern words, she could tell that something else was going on.

“Is everything alright, father?” Sansa voiced softly, placing her hands in her lap demurely. Ned nodded, giving her a smile that looked anything but reassuring.

“Everything is alright, it would ease my mind more to have all of you on a ship heading home while I deal with everything here,” Ned offered gently, reaching down to cup her cheek softly and place his other hand on Arya’s head in kind. “I will have the ship ready in a day’s time, so pack today and be prepared to leave in two.”

Both girls nodded, and he stepped back, glancing back at Jon to give him a nod before he stiffly limped his way out of the room, leaving the tower entirely. Jon noted that he wasn’t using his cane. His leg would never heal properly if he kept being stubborn about using the cane to leverage his weight upon.

“It’ll be nice to go home, see mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon again,” Sansa said brightly, turning her blue gaze on him.

“I can’t wait to show them all my new moves I learned from Syrio. Oh! Do you think father will bring him along with us too?! I don’t want my lessons to end now, I have so much more to learn!” Arya exclaimed loudly, a hint of panic lacing her tone.

“That is something you should ask Lord Stark about. If you leave now, you should be able to catch up with him.” Arya jumped to her feet, forgoing shoes altogether to catch their father quickly.

Jon smiled at her quickness, taking notice how her movements had a certain grace to them that they hadn’t before. He hoped that their father agreed to allow her teacher to join them in Winterfell. Aside from her hating the South and King’s Landing, Arya had found true happiness in learning the Braavosi water style fighting and even a confidence in herself. Jon truly hoped for his little sister’s happiness that Syrio is able to join them.

“I hope father agrees. Arya will be far happier when we are home if she can continue to do her dance lessons. She never liked them when Septa Mordane taught us.” Jon turned back to see Sansa watching where Arya had raced out of the room before turning back to him with a small smile on her face. It reminded him that only Sansa didn’t know about the true extent of Arya’s ‘dance lessons’. He wondered if he should say something, tell her the truth of it, but decided against it as it was not his place to tell her that.

It was Arya’s.

“Aye, I hope so too.” A brief moment of silence came over them, but he found that it wasn’t so awkward as he had once dealt with a few weeks ago. It was even somewhat comfortable.

“I wonder how father will break my betrothal with Joffrey,” Sansa voiced in wonder, bringing a finger up to her chin in thought. Jon seated himself in Arya’s empty spot on the couch, turning to face her with a shrug.

“He hadn’t say anything to me, but I’m sure he has an idea,” Jon paused a moment in thought, thinking of the unease in their father’s stance earlier, “I think…he already knows what he’ll say and how he’ll break it, but I…fear that he believes a fall out will happen and that’s why he’s sending us away before King Robert arrives back from his hunt.”

Sansa frowned deeply, her eyebrows drawing down with concern and sadness. “I don’t wish to damage father’s friendship with King Robert, but…I don’t wish to wed Joffrey anymore. He’s…” she pursed her lips tightly together, glancing at him then away before averting her eyes to her hands that were gripping at her skirts nervously.

“Sansa.” Jon scooted closer, aiming to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder when she suddenly blurted out, “You were right! He’s an idiot, but he’s also mean-spirited too! He was so mean to his siblings and-and Queen Cersei let him while she drank so much wine, and I don’t want to marry into that family, Jon! I don’t want it at all!”

“Hey, hey,” Jon called out for her attention, scooting further down the couch until he was right next to Sansa, reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder. “Father knows, he knows you don’t want to wed Joffrey and he won’t ever force you to wed someone you do not like or want.”

“I’m afraid it’s not going to matter though, Jon. I’m afraid that I’ll be coming back down here once I turn eight and ten to marry him, regardless of what father tries to do.”

“Listen to me, Sansa. Father would start a war before he allowed anyone to take your hand unwillingly. Once we are back in Winterfell, you will never leave again unless you wish too. Do you understand me?” Jon unconsciously reached up to cup her cheek like father had done, but it was far more intimate on his end. His thumb stretched up to swipe away a lone tear that escaped her watery eyes. Her cheek was so smooth and soft underneath the roughness of his thumb, it sent sparks through his veins into his chest where it warmed him.

“Would you start a war for me, Jon?” Sansa whispered softly, her eyes staring so deeply into his, Jon thought she might see right into his soul and the hidden feelings within him. He swallowed harshly then licked at his dry lips.

“I…I would,” he mumbled just as quietly, nodding slowly as his gaze seemed locked within hers. Those beautiful blue eyes, seeing him as more than a bastard, seeing him as someone worthy to look upon. He licked his lips again and a jolt rushed through him when her eyes flickered down to watch his tongue slide along his lips.

“Thank you, Jon,” Sansa muttered, placing her hand over his on her cheek then she was leaning towards him slowly. Jon’s heart thundered inside his chest like a terrible snowstorm wreaking havoc inside his body.

When her lips pressed softly into his cheek, a sense of relief and disappointment rolled through him. Relief that she hadn’t broached the strange tension between them and the boundary of their relation while also disappointed because he craved to have those soft, supple lips pressed into his. Craved to taste her pink lips and trace them with his tongue. A craving so deep that Jon just barely stopped himself from surging forward and claiming her lips for his own.

His movement must have confused her, for she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, possibly believing that was what he had intended to do. Jon accepted the embrace, using it to hold back his other base needs as Sansa’s arms wound around his back. They sat there for a moment like that before she started to pull back and Jon reluctantly released her.

Her eyes were clearer and dry with a smile uplifting her face. Jon could feel his own mouth lifting in a smile to mirror hers. He wondered if his eyes were clear as well.

“Do you think the direwolves will head North when we do?” Sansa asked seemingly out of nowhere.

Jon shrugged. “Possibly.”

“I hope so. I miss them so much.” Then her eyes grew darker, her gaze drawing do to her lap. “Thinking of home, it makes me think about everything and…” Sansa lifted her eyes up to capture his once more in their spellbinding way. “Do you think we’ll still talk like this once back in Winterfell?”

Not for the first time, Jon wondered that as well. It was easy down here, without her mother staring at him and at the same time, through him. As much as Jon wished to return to Winterfell, he wondered how long he would truly be there before heading to the Wall. It was something that weighed heavily on his mind. This new-found friendship with his most distant sister was something he had come to cherish deeply, strange incestual feelings aside. Jon wondered if this friendship would simply dwindle and cease to exist once they were back behind Winterfell’s walls.

He didn’t want that though. Jon liked talking to Sansa, he liked being able to speak with her in a frank way that wasn’t filled with flowery words that he once felt he had to say to her before. He liked feeling her trust in him and the hugs and kisses upon his cheek though secretly he wished for more. He liked protecting her. It was different in many ways than the friendship he had with Arya, and he liked it being different, to an extent.

Jon gave Sansa his more genuine smile as he said, “Of course, we will still talk like this. We’re still siblings after all.”

Sansa returned his smile though he noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, we are siblings, after all,” she repeated dimly, her eyes still not shining as brightly as earlier.

“Sansa,” Jon started, but she stood quickly.

“I am late for my lessons with Septa Mordane. I’ll see you at supper, Jon.” She then left him sitting there, wondering what he had said to make her leave so quickly.

Pressing his lips together, Jon sighed through his nose, shaking his head. Of course, he had said something wrong, he usually did. He thought back to what he said, but nothing seemed to jump out at him to get such a reaction like that from her. Shaking his head again, he stood as well, knowing that Ser Selmy would be waiting for him down in the courtyard.

\---------------------------------

Jon went through the swings as directed, keeping his legs bent slightly at the knee and spread in a balanced stance to equate his weight as he swung the blunted sword. His arms and shoulders ached but in a good way. It was a burn that spoke of strengthening muscles and easier endurance. He relished the burn.

Ser Selmy stood by, observing his swings with his arms crossed over his chest. The heat burned down upon them in the mid-day sun. Sweat drenched his tunic hidden inside the leather padding Jon still wore from practice earlier with some other squires. Selmy thought the extra weight of the padding would be good for his endurance and strengthening of his core.

It meant to Jon that he’d have to take another bath before supper tonight.

“Switch,” Ser Selmy said, and Jon switched into another stance, swinging from under to over. The old knight would count the swings while he concentrated on keeping his stance and learning the swings until it became muscle memory. That was where the difference between life and death came into play on the battle field per Ser Selmy.

He seemed to be right too, if the recent successes in his practice fights were to say anything about it. Jon felt his arms burn in a different way this time. He relished that burn too.

“Ser Barristan.”

Jon didn’t pause in his swings as he heard the arrogant voice call out in the courtyard. In the corner of his eye, he could see the sun reflecting off blonde hair as they were approached.

“Prince Joffrey, how do you fair today?” Selmy asked courteously, going down to a knee for the bratty prince. Jon continued his swings, ignoring them best as he could. Apparently, the prince noticed.

“Well, thank you. How is the bastard of Eddard Stark fairing? Is he any good?” Jon gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, the image of Joffrey in front of him as he continued his swings, hitting him each time was rather delightful.

“Yes. I would say he is as good as your uncle Jamie was at his age,” Barristan said proudly.

Joffrey scoffed loudly. Jon grinded his teeth together, remembering what Sansa had told him this morning. No, he would never allow his sweet, beautiful sister to wed such an arrogant, childish prince. He would gladly start a war before ever letting that happen.

“If he’s truly that good then he should prove it,” Joffrey stated loudly. Jon paused in his swings, finally turning around to grace the prince with his acknowledgement.

“What?” he questioned, seeing Joffrey dressed in reds and golds like a Lannister rather than a Baratheon. He found it rather curious that the prince with the Baratheon name would dress in his mother’s family colors than the King’s.

“I said if you think you’re so good then prove it.” Joffrey tilted his face up, peering down his nose at Jon with his little bit of height he had on him. The hilt of his sword bit harshly into his palm, but he ignored it.

“Against who? You?” Jon held back his scoff, arching his brows up in question as he did a once over of the prince. The teen barely looked like he had ever held a sword much less be able to compare him in strength and technique.

“Tsk. I would wipe the ground with you, but no, I mean against him.” The prince waved his hand towards Sandor Clegane. Jon held back the roll of his eyes, Joffrey wouldn’t even be able to hold an actual sword correctly, much less wipe the ground with him.

“Jon, I would advise you to decline. You may be able to hold against Sandor, but he will not hold back in harming you,” Barristan said quietly, appearing beside Jon as they both eyed the hulking Hound over.

“I can handle him,” Jon grunted. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Be light on your feet, keep your eyes on his every move, and don’t let your anger take hold of you.” Jon nodded at the advice, glancing over to the older man. Barristan looked very unhappy with the decision that was made, but he didn’t voice his disapproval.

“This is going to be fun,” Joffrey said, clapping his hands together gleefully. Sandor snorted, taking hold of a blunted sword by Barristan then came to stand a few feet from where Jon got into his stance.

“I’m going to bury you, bastard,” Sandor promised, cracking his neck left then right with a spit to the side.

Jon watched every move carefully, going through the many ways he could approach this fight. He’d seen some of Sandor’s strength and knew that he would bring quite the punch with his swings, but as long as he avoided direct sword contact and kept moving then he could easily get through his defense. It would take longer, but it was the best chance he had of winning.

He arched a brow at the Hound, tilting his head to indicate that he could go first. Sandor rolled his eyes then came at him faster than Jon was anticipating. He dodged the heavy swing downward at him, twisting around and stepping back swiftly. The hulking man didn’t let up though, moving just as swiftly as Jon to attack him again. The sword made a loud thud of steel and stone when it hit the ground hard after Jon just barely managed to dodge that swing.

The way the stone cracked and almost broke apart told him how lucky he was to have dodged the attack. Jon rolled to his feet, getting back into an easy stance with his sword raised up and legs slightly bent at the knees. He kept his eyes on Sandor as he resumed his stance as well, smirk stretching his thin lips widely and even stretching the ugly scars and burned skin on the ruined side of his face.

Jon braced himself, thinking of how he should approach the other man. Sandor had a large width from his long arms to his sword attached, that made it hard to come at him unless he distracted him, so he may take him down from behind. Jon also noted that he should also try catching Sandor on his left side where the burns were. His left eye had hanging skin near it, melted and reformed, it had to have made it far more difficult to see properly especially at the corner of his eye.

He was proven right when he came at the Hound from the left, noticing that he immediately turned fully to Jon, readying for the attach and when he came to Sandor on the right, he wasn’t so quick to turn fully to him, easily deflecting a weak swing. That told Jon that he was right about catching him off guard from his left side.

Smirking, Jon pulled back, twisting his arm with the sword in hand around to test his muscles strain from redirecting the attack Sandor swung a moment ago. It was a heavy hit, showing that the Hound was hulking with fat, but muscle. Ser Selmy was right, he needed to be light on his feet and tire him out, otherwise he was definitely going to lose.

“I’m growing bored,” Joffrey snottily remarked with his hands settling on his hips impatiently. Jon gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, seeing the way Sandor narrowed his eyes down at him. It was almost like a command without being one at the same time. Sandor seemed to tighten his hold on his sword as well, preparing to attack Jon heavily, he assumed.

Preparing for the onslaught himself, Jon was caught off guard though when Joffrey continued to comment, “I thought you said this bastard was as good as my uncle at this age? He’s terrible! Barely holds his own against my dog.”

Grinding his teeth, Jon tries to will back the anger fueling inside him as Joffrey continues, “He’s like a little mouse or rat, scurrying away from attacks with his tail between his knees. Are you sure you have been training him at all Ser Barristan?”

The Hound attacked then, charging towards Jon with a quickness that looked off because of his size. He swung his sword down harshly with Jon barely able to hold back the hit. He spun around, aiming to come up on Sandor’s left side, but it was like he knew that was his intention because he was coming down on him again with another heavy swing.

Jon grunted in effort from holding against the blow. His arms shook as he defended against Sandor’s weight, trying to deflect but the hulking man kept pressing down with all his weight. Jon arms were protesting furiously, about ready to buckle under the pressure. So, Jon went with the movement, crumbling down to the ground quickly to throw Sandor off balance then rolled out of the way as he came down.

Jumping to his feet, he held his sword down at Sandor’s neck. Jon was breathing harshly, but he felt elation inside him as he proved himself against the Hound and in a way, against Joffrey too. Smirking, he glanced over to see the angry expression on the Prince’s face at seeing his ‘dog’ beaten in a simple fight. Barristan smiled encouragingly, but before anything could be said or done, Sandor growled angrily, swinging his sword outward and knocking Jon off his feet.

His back slammed against the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Suddenly, Sandor was standing with his sword pointed at Jon’s throat. “Never let your guard down even in a practice match,” Sandor grounded out, baring his teeth very much like a Hound would.

Embarrassment over came Jon, even more so when Joffrey crackled and laughed, clapping his hands joyfully as he came up to stand next to his dog. “Now that was fun!” he announced gleefully, snaring down at Jon as he slowly sat up.

It was hard to breath, but he managed to even his breathing out enough to seem unaffected by the attack and loss but judging from the look in Sandor’s angry appearing eyes, he knew otherwise.

“You did well, Jon,” Barristan announced, helping him up to his feet.

“I’d say he didn’t. He got knocked on his ass and loss, that’s not doing well at all,” Joffrey stated with a smirk on his lips. Jon wanted nothing more than to knock his pretty teeth out of his mouth, but Barristan’s hold on him tightened, holding him back as he had unconsciously moved forward to attack.

“Losing doesn’t mean he didn’t do well, my prince. There is technique to consider as well as agility and strength.” The Prince rolled his eyes as though he were being given a boring lecture.

Jon didn’t like the way he was so disrespectful of his Lord Commander of his father’s Kingsguard. The man is there to not only protect the King, but his family as well and the King’s bratty son didn’t seem to care at all. It made him suddenly think of Jory, someone he liked and respected and who treated him like a person rather than Eddard Stark’s bastard. His heart gave a pulsing ache at the thought of Jory and his untimely, needless death because of this bratty prince’s uncle.

“And if this were a true battle, the bastard would be dead and cold before the end of the war,” Joffrey added haughtily, turning away from them with the Hound obediently following. Jon and Barristan watched them leave before the older man reached down to pick up the discarded sword Sandor left behind.

“What would he know of battle anyway? He’s just a spoiled prince who would die before being able to lift a sword, much less participate in a war,” Jon grumbled angrily. He flinched though when Barristan grabbed a hold of his shoulder with a tight grip.

“Need I remind you that he is the prince of all seven Kingdoms and will eventually be King. I am sworn to protect the King and his family, regardless if I approve of their behaviors. You may not like it, Jon, but you must learn to hold your tongue before you lose it. Don’t let anger control your actions or your mouth. You might end up saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and it will not end well for you.

“You wish to be a knight, to serve those who need serving and saving then you must learn to keep your head on right and follow commands over instinct. You must learn to know when to say something and when to keep your head down, if not for your sake then those you wish to protect. Do you understand me, Jon?”

Jon gave the older man a stiff nod, his eyes diverting down to the ground as he absorbed what was told to him. He was right. Jon had to better control his anger and heed his tongue, he knew that and yet…his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. Yet, he couldn’t help the way he felt about Joffrey Baratheon. He was the worse of the worst and he did not deserve the title of King that would eventually be given to him. He also couldn’t help the hint of jealousy inside him, not only for having a better title attached to his name, but also for at one point having Sansa’s admiration and love.

It was an odd combination of emotions inside him.

“I find him rather grating as well,” Barristan mumbled as they set off to replace the training equipment. Jon glanced up to see a soft smile on the old man’s lips. It helped to ease the tension and stress inside him.

If only a little…

\---------------------------------

Sansa sighed her relief as she started packing away her dresses. After her lessons with Septa Mordane, she couldn’t get back to her chambers fast enough. The old woman had lamented and bemoaned the missed opportunities Sansa would have if she left King’s Landing now. She wondered who wanted this betrothal more, her (not really) or her Septa.

Not only was half the time consumed by the old woman talking about what Sansa would miss out on by leaving, but Sansa was also consumed by her conversation with Jon that morning. She was only half listening as her mind went back over the conversation.

She had been so touched and fluttery feelings erupted inside her tummy when Jon had said he’d start a war for her. The look in his eyes, the certainty in his voice, it all made warm, tingly sensations roll through her body. It made Sansa truly believe that if it came down to it, Jon would start a war to protect her and that did funny things to her mind and body. Then he swiped his tongue along his bottom lip and she blanked out for a moment.

The thought of kissing him overwhelmed her. Wouldn’t a fair maiden kiss her knightly hero for his sweet words and acts of valor? Sansa knew her life wasn’t a fairytale, but the urge to kiss Jon made her lean forward. She wanted to do it though, she wanted to kiss him fully on the lips. She wanted to taste those full looking lips that made even her jealous at times. Sansa wanted it and yet she chickened out last second to press her lips against his cheek.

She released a shaky breath through her nose, quivering slightly when she pulled back and went Jon moved slightly forward, she took it as him wanting a hug as well. She wanted that too. The hug only slightly helped to alleviate the tension inside her, the war between her wants and her morals. It was such a struggle, one that Sansa was finding herself caring less about. Jon seemed to check each and every box of what a knight of her dreams would be, he showed time and again how caring and loving and how sweet he could be towards her.

And all it took was for her direwolf to be threatened with death from her betroth’s mother.

That thought had brought forth the fact that when they return to Winterfell, they might not talk like they do now, that they may in fact revert back to their old ways. Sansa wasn’t sure she could handle that, not after the strange feelings that have nearly taken over her, not after realizing how amazing Jon truly is and how dumb she was to keep him at arm’s length.

Sansa couldn’t go back to her old ways, even if she wanted too. Her eyes were to wide open now and she could possibly never close them as she once had again. She could even see that her father was not telling them the whole truth that morning, she could see his fear and wariness. Before their time in King’s Landing, she was sure that she wouldn’t have noticed at all. She’d possibly be upset over them going back home, she might have even wished to stay betrothed to Joffrey.

That thought sickened her deeply. No, Sansa thought, I could never go back to looking the other way anymore. I could never shut my eyes to the truth, not ever again.

But wasn’t she doing that now?

After voicing her fears, Jon had thought he was comforting her when he had said that one sentence.

_“Of course, we will still talk like this. We’re still siblings after all.”_

We’re siblings after all.

It was both a slap in the face and a wake-up call, rolled into one. They were siblings, she had reminded herself of that multiple times in the last few moons, but she still closed her eyes to that fact by allowing these sinful feelings to develop. She had her eyes wide open to everything but Jon, that was where she closed them tight and wanted to keep it that way. How hypocritical of her to judge others like Cersei for drinking as her form of closing her eyes to her son’s behavior when she did it in regards to Jon.

His words had upset her more than she realized, so she departed as fast as she could. The look in Jon’s eyes told her he knew he upset her but didn’t know why and that made her feel guilty for reacting in such a way. It was like she was on an uncontrollable horse, running down a winding road with tree branches catching and snagging on her clothes. She couldn’t control where she was going nor, could she get the branches to release her from their pull.

Sansa felt so confused with her whole situation. She hoped that going back home to Winterfell might bring some clarity to her. Maybe being around her sensible mother might help? Or would she see her mother as something different now that her eyes were open?

She glanced down the chest, seeing it full of her dresses, all folded meticulously. She realized, staring down at her pretty dresses, that she both wanted and feared heading back home. Sansa wished to be home where nostalgia ruled, but she feared falling back into the safe bubble that Winterfell seemed to foster for them all. She feared judgement for the changes she has gone through, but then she also feared acceptance too.

“Why am I so undecided?” she mumbled to herself, closing her chest and locking it up before turning around to find what else needed packing. Sansa was sure she’d have to push and help Arya to pack tonight or otherwise she’d be stuffing everything within her chest without a care if it fit or not.

A knock on her door startled her from her thoughts. Turning around, Sansa took in a maid, one that had helped her with her clothes and hair before though instead of a smile on her face, she looked uneasy. She bowed slowly with a greeting of ‘Lady Sansa’.

“Yes?” Sansa inquired, glad she had closed up her chest as soon as she had. Jon didn’t tell them much after his first talk to father, but he did make mention to not alert anyone from King’s Landing or the Red Keep of their plans. Essentially, Jon told her and Arya not to trust anyone.

“Queen Cersei has requested your presence for tea and sweets,” the soft-spoken maid said, bowing her head slightly.

The thought of sitting down with Queen Cersei once more after the dinner she had endured was extremely undesirable, to say the least. Sansa schooled her expression into one of absolute apology as she said, “I cannot make such an appointment right now, I have lessons to finish among other duties given by my father.”

The maid pressed her lips tightly together, glancing about the chambers then out the door before shuffling further in. “It wouldn’t be good to keep her waiting,” she mumbled.

“I’m not keeping her waiting, I have other du-Please, my lady, you do not…want…to keep her waiting.” Sansa frowned as a lick of fear tickled her tummy. The fear in the maid’s eyes as she repeated her words scared her far more than having to endure sitting down with the Queen.

The question that scared her more was if the maid was fearful of what will happen to her if she returns without Sansa or what will happen to Sansa if she declines the request.

Slowly nodding, she replied, “Alright, help me fix my hair and we will go.”

The maid seemed very grateful for the answer, coming right over as Sansa sat herself at her vanity while the maid went to work on brushing her hair that was left unbound before braiding and twisting the long auburn strands up into another hair style that everyone in King’s Landing favored.

Sansa twiddled her fingers as she endured her hair being pulled up while she feared what she would speak about with Queen Cersei. The maid said tea and sweets, but she was sure that Cersei would be drinking wine over tea. Sansa wasn’t sure she would be able to stomach tea much less anything sweet, even lemon cakes.

All too soon, the maid was finished and escorting her from the Hand’s Tower to Cersei’s private chambers. That did nothing to ease the stress and fear weighing down her shoulders. Every step of the way, her heart started to beat just one more beat faster than before.

By the time she entered Cersei’s chambers, Sansa was feeling fairly faint and sick to her stomach though she tried to hide it away well. She took in the extravagance of the chambers with it’s reds and golds and clearly expensive furniture and artwork. It was like walking into the lion’s den.

She was led out onto a large balcony where a table and chairs were placed. Up this high, there was a soft breeze blowing through and keeping the air cool while the set up was covered with tenting. Cersei sat on one side, centered with sweets littering the table. She waved away the few women around her, Sansa noting that a few were Lannister cousins of hers.

“Lady Sansa, welcome,” Cersei said politely, smile on her lips that looked almost genuine if it wasn’t for the sharpness in her green eyes. Sansa felt a smile come to her lips, helping to hide her unease and sickness.

“Thank you for inviting me, your grace,” she said just as politely with a perfectly executed curtsy. “Will it just be us?” she asked quickly, glancing around curiously though she knew the answer before Cersei confirmed them.

“Yes, I wish to speak to you as soon to be mother-in-law and daughter-in-law.” Sansa nodded as she seated herself across from the Queen. “Please, enjoy the sweets I have made especially for this occasion.”

A servant poured some tea into a cup for her, steaming hot while Sansa glanced about the dishes to decide which one she could stomach. Her eyes drew to the lemon cakes, but the thought of taking a bite of one made her stomach queasy. Turning to the right, she saw little cherry pies as small as the center of her palm. The memory of Jon stuffing cherry pie down his throat when they were many moons younger came to mind and she found herself taking one on her plate.

Sansa found it was the right decision to make as the first bite was both sweet and tart like her lemon cakes, but knowing it was Jon’s favorite settled her stomach, curiously.

“How is everything?” Cersei questioned a few minutes later after Sansa had ate her small cherry pie and drank some of her tea. She smiled brightly, channeling the happiness she felt eating the sweet to make it seem like she was actually happy to be there.

“Tasty and delicious, your grace. I didn’t expect anything less from your table,” Sansa answered sweetly, feeling braver at the way Cersei seemed rather pleased by her response.

“I’m glad to hear that. Yet, that begs the question of if you are happy here. Are you happy in King’s Landing, Sansa?” Cersei inquired with an even tone while she laced her fingers together to rest her chin upon them. Her gaze was hot and insistent, piercing through her in an unnerving way.

Sansa had been sipping her tea when she was asked the question, so she took her time finishing the liquid within the cup to stall her answering. She knew that she had to lie to the Queen, she couldn’t possibly tell her that she did not wish to wed her son. Heart pounding inside her chest, Sansa placed the empty tea cup down with a less than shaky hand.

“Of course, I am happy here! I have always wanted to be down South where the weather is steady and there are many knights, singers and tourneys! I am also betrothed to wed the crown prince, I am very happy here, your grace,” Sansa insisted, lying through her teeth so well that she felt as wicked as Arya could be with her lying. Maybe she learned from the best when it came to lying.

Arya had a way of adding truth to her lies and though they were tiny things like lying about being at her lessons when she wasn’t or saying it was Rickon to ruined one of Sansa’s dresses, Arya knew what to say and she kept such a straight face when she did. It was only really Jon that Arya could never lie to and get away with. Sansa channeled that of her sister, keeping her face cheery and straight as Cersei stared her down.

“Have I seemed like I haven’t?” Sansa questioned worriedly, biting down on her bottom lip and peering down like she felt ashamed. She heard a sigh and her heart slowed down when she glanced back up to catch a glimpse of Cersei’s eye roll.

“No, well…no, you haven’t, my dear. I just have noticed that your father has been less than happy here. He is a good Hand and my husband needs one to keep him straight,” Cersei hissed ‘my husband’ and Sansa knew then and there how much the older woman despised the King. “I was wondering about his…loyalty to the crown and if,” she paused to shrug nonchalantly, “he perhaps plans to head home for awhile.”

Sansa felt a chill race down her spine, clarity blazing through her mind as she realized that Cersei was fishing for information. Her father had been almost fearful this morning, declaring that they’d leave in two days’ time and to be packed. Could it possibly have to do with the Queen? Did he learned something about this sharp tongued, piercing eyed Queen that could put them all in danger? She almost lifted her tea cup to her lips before realizing it was empty.

The wolf in her growled to continue lying, that something wasn’t adding up as to why Cersei wanted to know what her father was up too. She could almost feel the hot breath of her wolf against her neck, glaring over her shoulder protectively. Sansa was almost tempted to reach up and brush her fingers through the fur of her wolf even though she wasn’t actually there.

Swallowing her fear in a dry throat, Sansa said, “I have no idea what you could ever mean, your grace. My father may not care for the heat of King’s Landing, but he cares for King Robert and believes in him as a King of the Seven Kingdoms. He-He would be the last person to ever betray the crown. And as far as I know, my father doesn’t plan on leaving for Winterfell any time soon, though I suppose in maybe two or three moons.”

Cersei took the bait. “Why then?”

Sansa laughed softly. “Oh well both mother and Rickon’s name days are then.” Seeing the way Cersei’s shoulders dropped told her that the woman did not actually know anyone’s name day in her family, thankfully. It was a gamble to say, but she needed to act naïve. She needed to act like she used to be. She needed to seem like she was giving information without giving real information.

Lying with a little truth in them like Arya knew how to do.

“Are you sure about that, my dear?” Cersei then questioned out of nowhere. Sansa glanced up from seeing at the crumbs of her long-gone cherry pie on her plate to see the Queen’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, your grace, I am sure.” A smirk formed on the older woman’s lovely face as though the lion had tricked the mouse.

“Then why were you packing away your dresses earlier?” The inquiry echoed around Sansa’s head as she realized that the maid must have been there longer than she thought. Jon had said it and he was right, don’t trust anyone from King’s Landing.

Sansa blinked with wide eyes mouth opened as she seemed to think about what Cersei had said then she made a gasp of realization for show. “Oh! I was putting away my winter dresses! Father has commissioned to have lighter fabric dresses made for me as I lack many without wool in them. Those dresses make me so hot and,” Sansa lowered her voice, leaning closer to Cersei like she was self-conscious, “they make me sweat and smell awful. I don’t wish for Prince Joffrey to see or smell me when I have been out in the sun in those dresses.”

Cersei looked very unamused, but she also appeared to realize that Sansa did not know anything nor was she very bright. Sansa didn’t like anyone thinking she wasn’t smart, but in this case, that worked in her advantage.

The topic moved off to lighter conversations including the return of the women that had accompanied Cersei before Sansa arrived. Music was played by a sweet voiced man and a lute while the women gossiped and talked. The atmosphere changed quickly, and Sansa even found herself enjoying the company though she kept her guard up the whole time. Jon’s words to not trust anyone keeping her on her toes.

When it came time to leave though, Cersei asked her once more, “Are you happy here, little dove?”

Sansa found the endearment both sweet and condescending like she was nothing but a beautiful small thing that can be caged for her beauty. She wasn’t a dove though, she was a wolf only she was hiding in sheep’s clothing to confuse the lion.

“Yes,” she answered simply then the Queen was nodding, mumbling, “Very well,” before waving her off.

Sansa happened to be escorted by the same maid from earlier, the urge to yell at her over telling Cersei about what she saw came over her, but just as quickly as it came, it was gone. The maid could do nothing but report back to whomever she worked for and that being Cersei. Sansa couldn’t exactly fault the woman for doing what she was told especially upon realizing the maid was fearful of what Cersei would do to her if Sansa had continued to decline the invitation.

So, when she came to the door leading into their chambers, she turned back to the maid with a soft, understanding smile and thanked her for convincing her to go immediately and that she had a very lovely time because of her. The maid smiled slowly, nodding as her cheeks redden slightly before she bowed and left.

Upon entering, she found Arya in the middle of the large ante-chamber. She was doing a hand stand while balancing her legs straight up with a book on each foot. Sansa arched a brow at the display her sister made, wondering why she was doing such a thing.

“Arya?” Sansa said questioningly, coming further into the room as her little sister took notice of her. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing my balancing,” Arya answered with a huff, her face red from being upside down for so long. She took in her sister’s efforts, realizing that she was balancing rather well though she still didn’t know why she was doing such a thing.

“But why?” Sansa questioned further.

“Syrio said I’ll be better on my feet and better with my hands if I can balance them both at the same time.” She was still perplexed as to how this would help her sister with her dance lessons. Suddenly, it was like a door seemed to open in her mind and Sansa started to realize that maybe her sister was actually doing something else rather than true dance lessons.

“But wouldn’t standing with the books in her hands do the same thing?”

“No, it’s not the same at all! That’s too easy and I’ve already mastered that from learning to walk and hold things growing up. This is much harder to master and uses all my weight too!” Arya explained with her reddened face and puffing chest.

“You look like you are about to pass out,” Sansa stated concernedly, reaching up to take the books off her feet.

“No! Don’t do that! I’m practicing!” Arya shouted, somehow managing to step away from her on her hands.

“Well stop practicing now, at least until your face isn’t red anymore! What if you get badly hurt?”

Arya rolled her eyes as she fumbled to keep her stance. “Why do you care anyway!?”

“Because I’m your sister! I don’t want you hurt and I’m supposed to be there to help you when you are being bull-headed like you are now! Just like you need to be there for me when I become pig-headed.” Sansa frowned at using ‘pig-headed’ as that was always an insult Arya threw at her, but really, she was worried her little sister was going to bump her head badly. Seeing the way Arya’s forehead crinkled, Sansa added, “I don’t want you hurt like Bran.”

Sighing, she balanced her hands to lean her feet towards Sansa, allowing her to take the books off before she brought her feet down to the ground and stood up. Arya stumbled immediately, arms rolling in the air to catch herself, but Sansa still had to come up and help her seat down on the couch as she bemoaned that the room was swirling in her vision.

Sansa shook her head at her little sister then went over to get her a cup of water. She gratefully took it, drinking it up as her face started to get blotchy as the red color started to fade away. “Where have you been?” Arya asked after she finished the water, eyeing her over the rim.

“The Queen invited me tea.”

“Sounds fun,” Arya quipped sarcastically.

“The cherry pie was good, the company…not so much,” Sansa replied, earning a small chuckle from her sister.

“So, they gossiped and squealed over boys and stuff.”

She found it interesting that her sister was continuing the conversation even though she could tell that Arya was so bored of this type of talk. It made her a little happy inside that her sister was trying to talk about what Sansa liked.

“Yes, but that was after the other ladies came back. At first, it was just the Queen and me. She wanted to talk about father.” Remembering this, she turned to Arya with a very serious expression on her face as she continued, “She asked about father’s loyalty to the crown and if he plans to leave King’s Landing soon.”

Arya sat up from her slouch. “You didn’t tell her anything, did you?”

Sansa felt slightly hurt that her sister thought she would, but the question was asked in fear rather than accusation. She shook her head. “No, I played dumb. But I’m not sure she believed me entirely. Arya, I’m afraid. I think whatever father learned it has to do with the Queen and that’s why he wants us to leave King’s Landing as quickly as possible.”

“We shouldn’t worry then. If she doesn’t know when we are leaving then she can’t stop us,” Arya stated firmly. Sansa had her doubts though.

“Her maid saw me packing my dresses away before I was escorted. I came up with a good lie, but I’m not sure she believed it. What if we get ready to leave and they let you and Jon go, but force me to stay? What if we are all held for treason for trying to leave? Joffrey’s so cruel, Arya! What if he hurts me for trying to leave him? I can’t marry a man like that, I can’t!”

Arya grabbed a hold of Sansa’s hand as tears started to pour down her face. Fear, stress, and anxiety waged a terrible war in her stomach as her fears slipped through her mouth. The thought of Jon and Arya on the ship, sailing away while she is forced to stay behind came across her mind. The thought of Joffrey standing before her, so angry with the cruel lift of his mouth. What if he hit her? More tears leaked from her eyes.

“I won’t let him hurt you. Father would never let the prince hurt you or Jon either! We can protect you, Sansa. I will protect you,” Arya declared heatedly, holding her hand tightly while rubbing her other hand her arm.

“But you’re just a girl!” Sansa bellowed, not saying it meanly and hoping her sister didn’t take it that way.

“I also know how to fight!” Arya said back, standing up without a hint of dizziness as she all but dragged Sansa from the couch and towards her chambers.

Sansa wiped at her eyes as she watched Arya dig into one of her drawers. She noted the messy state of the room and knowing that it was going to take them all afternoon to get her packed. She turned her watery eyes back to her sister upon hearing her coming over. Sansa startled when she saw the small, thin sword in her hands.

“Where did you…”

“Jon had it made for me! Syrio has been teaching me the Braavosi style of swordplay!” Arya exclaimed excitedly then proceeded to show Sansa the many moves she knew.

Sansa watched as her sister practically danced as she played around with her sword. This was her ‘dance lessons’. This was where all the bruises came from and her happiness. Somehow, Sansa felt like she should have known better than to think her little sister would be learning dance moves over swordplay. A watery smile came to her lips then slowly a laugh bubbled up from her mouth.

Arya flustered at the sound, her face turning red and she glared at her. Sansa quickly waved her hand, explaining, “I’m laughing at myself for thinking you were learning actual dance. This makes so much more sense and…you look amazing doing it too.”

The flush on her cheeks lightened though it didn’t go away as Arya diverted her eyes. She was never complimented often back at Winterfell, so she never really knew how to take such praise.

“So, you will protect me, right?” Sansa questioned, drawing her sister’s eyes back to her.

“Of course! We’re sisters, aren’t we?!” Arya yelled out, replacing her sword that she was quick to tell Sansa was named ‘needle’.

Her heart warmed and brightened when she heard Arya tell her they were ‘sisters’, something they use to profusely state that they weren’t. It made her happy to know that Arya was willing to protect her and loved her like a sister should. Before her little sister could do anything, Sansa embraced her tightly, ignoring her complaints. It wasn’t long before Arya was wrapping her arms around Sansa, returning the hug just as tightly.

Father, Jon and Arya will protect me, Sansa thought, they’ll protect me…

\---------------------------------

It would be early that morning before the sun had risen and Eddard Stark had missed out on supper with his children that he would learn that Robert Baratheon had been badly wounded on his hunt.

Some paths change…

While others continue to be the same…

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...some things change, but others will remain the same, sadly. Guess y'all can figure out what happens next, huh? Things will change though, it's like canon is a linear path and I'm zigzagging along the path, hitting key points while changing others around it which I always intended to do. It keeps things interesting as for my writing process, this whole chapter is completely knew, from scratch as the real chapter 3 is getting pushed to chapter 4 now. 
> 
> So, Jon and Sansa are more or less knowing that they are falling for each other (angsty incest alert). I decided to forgo the conversation with Ned because it's a lot to write and I decided to do the practice fight with Sandor instead, also amp up Jon's growing hatred for Joffrey. In the original story, Sansa goes to Cersei, but in this version since Sansa doesn't want the betrothal, she doesn't, but Cersei makes her go to her anyway. I wanted a one on one interaction, but also to show that Sansa's picking up on the game. I also placed the 'Arya is a good liar' in there because well she is in canon, but also in relation to me. I was a lot like Arya growing up while my older sister was a lot like Sansa, so thinking about us, I remember how I would lie (like Arya here) with little truths, but my sister would always-always know I was lying. It was really fucking annoying, lol. I thought it'd be a nice added touch.
> 
> Then I decided to add a sweet moment between Arya and Sansa to end the chapter with! I hinted and noted of them having a slightly better relationship, but showing is better than hinting, lol. I also liked the idea of Arya showing off her 'needle' to Sansa and in a sense wanting her older sister's approval too. If you have an older sibling then you definitely know what I am talking about when you can do something they can't and want them to like it. I really enjoyed writing the last section with Arya, wish I had placed more scenes of her in them, but alas...
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed the update!! I'm hoping *fingers crossed* that I'll be able to post the fourth chapter next week as it is considered done, but I want to clean it up more and possibly add some scenes as well because I have a feeling I will be pushing back a scene or two into the following chapter. Thanks for reading and let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry this is so late! It's been...something IRL. I did have this chapter mostly done, but it was also still in the previous edit before I decided to go further indepth with the story, so I had to work through some things and fix the kinks that didn't make sense with the chapter and story overall. This chapter is mostly in Jon's POV with only one small section being Sansa's (which is a complete add-in rather than original). 
> 
> I hope y'all will enjoy!! Things are about to get...crazy! ^_~

 

 

 

Jon had woken early in a cold sweat. The sun hadn’t even risen yet when he shot up from his bed, sweat dripping profusely down his forehead and neck. His breathing was harsh, ragged like he had been running for his life. He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming of though, only that he was scared. The sense that something bad was going to happen came over him, shaking Jon to his core.

Before he knew what exactly he was doing, he had walked over to his desk, lighting up a single candle to see by and pulling out a parchment to write upon. With a shaking hand, Jon wrote to Robb. He wrote down everything their father had told him, down to his own suspicions and fears. Words upon words filled the page before he was done and even when he was certain he was done, there was still so much more left to be said.

Fear was ordering him around though. Jon quickly folded up the letter, sealing it with wax from his candle then using the bottom of the candlestick to press the drying wax against the envelope. A stillness settled over him as he held the envelope in his hand, staring down at it.

What was he to do with it now? Send it off with the next mail carrier? It was far to large to be rolled up into a scroll and it would take few weeks before it would even reach Robb. Should he even send it at all?

Jon rubbed his thumb over the parchment, his thoughts wild and unsettled, but the fear was still within him. It was throbbing like a wound, reminding him of it’s existence even though he had no idea why. A sense of foreboding was surrounding him though, telling him that something bad was going to happen. It was almost like a sixth sense that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it was there; he could feel it.

Sighing, Jon set the envelope down on the desk then proceeded to dress for the day. He wasn’t going to get any sleep otherwise and if he intended to send out the message to Robb today then he mind as well get ready now.

Once he was dressed, Jon placed the envelope in a slit in his jerkin, patting it securely before leaving his chambers. It was dark and quiet, his father’s door was open, telling him that he wasn’t there. That sense of foreboding came over him as Jon peeked into the empty chambers to be sure before he exited to the halls.

He thought about dropping off the letter with the Maester within the Red Keep, but again, the feeling of fear and suspicion told him otherwise. So, Jon made his way out of the castle, avoiding people as he went. He noted that there were fewer guards on watch than would be normal, something that was rather strange.

Something was going on, Jon could feel it in his bones which only made him more on edge. It took him no time to get to a place where peasants could send out their mail. He had to wait awhile though as the sun was just breaking over the horizon at this point and hardly anyone was awake.

Jon settled down against the stone wall, tapping his fingers and bouncing his leg impatiently. They would be leaving tomorrow, setting sail up to White Harbor then to Winterfell from there. He felt torn though. Half of him wanted nothing more than to return home, to see his brothers and embrace them tightly while the other half didn’t wish to leave his father behind in this cesspool. Already so many things had happened that were worrying and many more would probably come.

What if something happened to their father? Jon internally groaned, turning his gaze up at the slowly brightening sky. Eddard Stark was Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, there was hardly anything that could be done to him even as Hand to the King. But…but the Lannisters had their claws bared and sharp, ready to take out whomever threatened them.

He could see it in the way that the Queen kept her distance to everyone with her fake smiles and narrowed eyes. Jon did his best to avoid being seen by her at all. Luckily, his status kept him under her range and mostly out of her sight. Yet, his father seemed to not care for her in the least and with him suddenly sending them all away as quickly as possible…

That left Jon with little to think it had a lot to do with the Lannisters and their greed for power. Cersei being Queen, Joffrey as heir to the throne, and even the Kingslayer, Jamie threatening his father and killing Jory. Rage bubbled in his stomach, the Lannisters were up to something and that had to be what caused the fear in Ned.

Jon jumped when the door beside him opened to reveal an old man, stretching as he greeted the day. He, too, jumped when he noticed Jon on the ground. They exchanged pleasantries as they got down to business. The old man let him know that his letter would be going out in only an hours’ time and that he was extremely lucky to catch him before that happened. Jon paid his dues, thanking the old man before leaving to head back to the Red Keep.

He felt better as he walked, but the sense of something bad coming kept the good feelings at bay. Maybe he should go find his father? There was something more going on than meets the eye and once more Ned was keeping everything close to his chest. It rubbed Jon the wrong way, but he knew his father was only trying to protect him if something terrible went down. A Lord had a better chance of escaping harsh punishment as opposed to a title-less bastard such as Jon.

Still, that didn’t mean his father had to shut him out entirely.

The Red Keep loomed overhead, it wasn’t dark or ominous appearing, but Jon felt like it as he gazed at the high towers, locating the Hand’s Tower easily. He would have to tread lightly today, keep out of sight and hopefully, he would get to speak with his father before supper that night…

\---------------------------------

“Do you want to watch me at my lessons today?” Arya asked from her doorway, peering around the corner but remaining planted at the door frame. Sansa found it strange that her sister was respecting her space, something she never did back at Winterfell, but it was a welcome strange, if nothing else.

“Yes, that sounds fun,” Sansa answered honestly, smiling brighter at the way Arya brightened at her answer.

“Great! Hurry up and dress and eat! I don’t want to be late!” Arya ordered quickly, rushing away back to her own chambers to dress.

Sansa giggled, shaking her head as she got up to dress. She chose a simple pink dress, something that didn’t require a corset underneath nor help to put on. She then fixed her hair, pulling back the front ends away from her face and braiding it down until she could tie the ends. Sansa looked into the mirror, smiling at her reflection. It was simple look, a more Northern look and that made her heart skip and her stomach flutter.

Especially when she thought of Jon seeing her like this.

She shook the thought immediately from her head, scolding herself for thinking such a thing. Their siblings, Jon had even stated as much and thinking of him in any other way was sinful and disgusting. Even though Sansa reprimanded herself, she couldn’t stop the way her body tingled at the thought of him.

Breakfast was quick as Arya all but inhaled her fruit and bread while Sansa ate a bit slower as to not choke. Jon came in around that point, causing both sisters to give him varying questioning looks as to why he was up so early. Jon didn’t provide any answers to their unspoken questions, merely grunted a greeting then started in on breakfast with them.

Septa Mordane came from her chambers, dressed and ready for the day. She rebuked Arya’s hasty eating, but she ignored the older woman though she did eat a bit slower.

“Now, Sansa, for our last day, I thought we could visit the Sept of Baelor together to get you better acquainted where you will wed Prince Joffrey.” Sansa flinched at the mention of the prince.

“She can’t, she’s going with me to my last dance lesson,” Arya interjected between a bite and swallow of honeyed bread. Jon arched a brow, glancing between the girls in mild shock.

Sansa knew that he had no idea of what she and Arya had discussed yesterday and when he turned his grey eyes on her, she smiled with a nod to indicate she knew about the ‘dance lessons’ Arya took. Heat bloomed on her cheeks at the soft smile he gave her then turned it into a grin when he brought his gaze to Arya.

“Oh! Then I shall come to supervise,” Septa Mordane announced while preparing her meal. Arya made a choking noise, inhaling her fruit without chewing it. Jon reached over, smacking her hard on the back as she coughed the orange slice down.

“But it’s already supervised!” Arya shouted, waving Jon’s patting hand away. The older woman gave her a stern look.

“You girls need an escort.”

“I’m already escorting them, Septa,” Jon answered. She nodded at him, turning her gaze down to her porridge almost sadly.

Sansa couldn’t help but pipe up, “Didn’t you need to speak with the High Septon before we left, Septa? This will give you that chance.”

“Yes, you are right, Sansa.” She smiled gently at her, seeming to have let go her previously plans.

Arya sighed softly in relief and Sansa felt much the same. The Seven only knew what would happen if Septa Mordane found out what Arya’s true ‘dance lessons’ were. She’d thrown a fit or have a stroke and if she found out that father allowed these lessons then he would be getting an ear full. Not to mention she would report this to their mother and Sansa could only imagine how she would take it.

“Sansa, are you ready?”

Blinking out of her thoughts, Sansa looked up to see Arya already at the door and Jon standing by the table, looking down at her expectantly. She nodded then said her farewell to Septa Mordane as they left the tower.

“You do realize what these dance lessons are, right?” Jon questioned quietly to her as Arya walked further ahead, practically dancing on her toes.

“Of course, I do. It’s ballroom dancing,” Sansa replied back, Jon stopped short to give her a scrunched-up look of confusion. “Yes, Jon, I know what type of dancing Arya does. She showed me her ‘needle’ last night.”

“Right,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his head at her apparent sarcasm. A small smirk came to her lips.

“I want to show Arya that I support her in everything she does. I want her to feel happy and proud of herself like I am of her,” Sansa answered honestly, turning her gaze onto her little sister as she walked further ahead of them.

“She’ll never admit it,” Jon started, drawing her attention back to him, “but she always wanted you to be proud of who she is. Arya knows she’ll never be a true lady no matter how much your mother wishes for it. She has a different path intended for her, I think. And…I think that path will be easier to follow if she has her family at her back.”

Sansa glanced back to Arya, her eyes slightly watered as she thought of all the struggles her little sister went through while trying her darnest to be a lady, to be like Sansa. Arya could be as proud as their mother and she would never admit to crying if she could help it, but that didn’t mean she was never hurt by society and the expectations put upon her.

“You’re right. Arya’s path is different from mine and hopefully, she’ll do well down that road.”

Jon turned to her, his mouth open to say more but Arya cut him off with a shout, “Hurry up!”

“We better not keep her waiting.”

The rest of the walk was filled with mindless chatter between the three. Sansa felt a lightness flutter inside her as she took in everything around her. The way that Jon and Arya talked and joked, even including her in on a few jokes, and the way they all interacted together. It had never been like this back in Winterfell.

Sansa had always been somewhat excluded from the group more times than not. She was always with their mother or Septa Mordane. She always missed out on the group meals and gatherings in the Godswood and the few times they had all gone on trips to Wintertown. Sansa buried away the feeling of loneliness and clung to her mother more, mirroring her actions more and trying to push away the feeling of unfairness and hurt when no one, not even Robb would ask her if she wished to join them.

Now though, Sansa couldn’t imagine going back to Winterfell and being excluded again. The mere fact that Arya had asked her to join on her last training day said more than any words could describe. Sansa felt like she wanted to scream in happiness and yet cry at the echoing feeling of hurt and loneliness that still clung to her, wishing to drown her in sorrow and bitterness.

Her little sister turned back to her, smiling so brightly and asking her if she was excited to watch. Sansa felt her face ache in how large her smile became as she nodded quickly. She could never go back to the way things had been, she could never look at Arya and wish she was not her sister or look at Jon and wish he’d disappear as she had once thought during the thick of loneliness.

Leaving Winterfell may have cost her many things, but Sansa found that she gained a few more as well. And nothing could change that for her.

Nothing at all…

\---------------------------------

After leaving the girls to Arya’s lessons, Jon headed down to the courtyard to meet up with Ser Selmy where he was given a simple delivery task down by the docks. The sun was overhead, beating down its blazing heat upon him. The only thing Jon even remotely liked about King’s Landing was the docks with the salty sea water crisp in the air and the sound of waves splashing against the rocks surrounding the piers. There was always some type of breeze down here, helping the mask the heat of the sun well.

The day seemed to be a good one, beautiful and bright. It made him wonder why he woke up with such a start before the crack of dawn. Even Sansa and Arya were in happy moods as he left them with his little sister teasing Sansa that she should learn to handle a sword like herself. Sansa had reddened in the face, shaking her head ‘no’, but the thought of her wielding a sword made his heart rate jump and sweat form on his brow.

He could even picture Sansa, holding a sword similar to Arya’s with her red hair bound in a braid down her back. Jon imagined further that he was the one teaching her, holding her close while he showed her how to swing the blade expertly. He’d lean over her shoulder, whisper instructions in her ear, maybe even brush his lips there to see how she’d react. The thoughts sent shivers down his spine and made his trousers uncomfortable as he walked.

He needed to focus, he had a final task to complete before they left tomorrow, and he wanted to make the old knight proud. Well, prouder than he already was. Ser Selmy made sure to tell Jon how proud he was with the work he had done, praising him for his skills and encouraging him to pursue being a knight. Jon had smiled, nodded, and tried to keep from flushing at the amount of praise he received, but he didn’t think he would really become a knight.

That was Bran’s dream, a dream that Jon took upon himself to fulfill as his little brother never would be able too. With them heading back to Winterfell, Jon assumed that the Night’s Watch would be his future. His father made mention of squiring him out to Lord Manderly in White Harbor, stating that he would have better opportunities there rather than Winterfell.

Or the Night’s Watch.

Ned didn’t have to say that last part though, it was implied without word. Jon could tell his father truly did not want him to join the Watch. He knew it the night he tried to get his father to agree before agreeing to go down South, and Jon knew it now as they prepared to head back to North. He kept going back and forth in his head, wondering if he should continue squiring or if he should settle for the Watch.

Then there was Sansa, bombarding his mind with her sweetness and beauty. Her simple yet sweet touches, her smiles and laughs, and her empathy. Jon kept trying to place her in the sibling square inside his mind, but she wouldn’t stay put. He loathed to think of her as his half-sister especially with the feelings worming around inside him. How could he think Sansa as a sibling when a mere glance from her blue eyes got him all hot and sweaty? How could he hug her lovingly without that love being more romantic than familial?

How could he think of her as sister when he thought of her nude, touching him like a woman while he took her like a wolf?

Jon swallowed hard, forcing those thoughts away as best as he could. He couldn’t think of her as a sister and maybe it was a good thing that they were heading home. Home would force them apart. Home would bring her Lady mother whom disliked his existence. Home would remind him that she was off-limits as it should be. Home would only last until he left and leaving her behind would be good for both of them.

Maybe he should truly join the Night’s Watch? Maybe then he could be rid of these feelings and be normal again.

Jon rubbed at his forehead, heading down to the ships to locate the captain of the Red Winds ship. He pinpointed the ship quickly with its redwood coloring standing out among the plainer woods of the other ships. Sighing in relief to have something to do to take his mind off everything else, he had barely made a step when a city watch guard abruptly stopped in front of him. Before he could say anything, another guard appeared beside the first.

“Excuse me,” Jon muttered, trying to step around them but one of the guards grabbed a tight hold of his arm, forcing him to drop his package that he was supposed to deliver. Fear spiked up his spine, something wasn’t right.

“Jon Snow, you are being apprehended on the account of treason,” the first guard declared.

“What are you talking about? Treason? Treason of what?” Jon growled out, yanking at his arm to try and break free. He managed to do so, but suddenly he was grabbed from behind. It only took him a second to realize he was surrounded.

“Treason against the crown,” the first guard answered coldly.

He struggled against the guards hold on him as they all but dragged him through the docks then through the city where everyone could watch. They only stopped to pull out their swords and threatened not only his life, but his family’s lives too if he continued to struggle. Jon curled his hands into fists, the urge to punch each and every city watch guard then stab them with their own swords was strong, but he relented his struggles.

The thought of the girls in harms way came over him. This was the foreboding feeling he had woken up to early that morning. This was what he feared so much in his dreams, what drove him to send that letter. Something bad was happening, but it was happening before they could leave. Thoughts of his father came to him, so Jon questioned the guards about his father, the Hand to the King, but none of them responded to his questions.

As far as he knew, his father was still waiting on King Robert to come back from his hunt to speak to him, and that wouldn’t happen until today, perhaps. Jon glared hatefully at his guards as they continued to drag him to the Red Keep. Upon entering, he was dragged up the stairs where his feet scrambled to make purchase on the steps and his knees got knocked into the stone steps numerous times.

He was hauled up to his chambers where he could hear Sansa yelling from within hers. He heard the guards commenting about finding the younger girl, meaning Arya was out there; somewhere. Jon was thrown into his chambers where the door was bolted shut, locking him within as Sansa was in hers.

Jon tried breaking down the door, bruising up his shoulder rather severely, but he barely made a dent in the wood. He shouted out, trying to get answers from the guards outside his chambers, but no one bothered to answer him. It was like he wasn’t even there. Fear gripped at his heart as it truly dawned on him that something terrible had happened. He worried about his father, about where Arya was hiding, and about Sansa, locked in her own chambers without a clue as to what was going on.

For hours, Jon paced around his chambers, going over everything that had happened and trying to figure out where everything went wrong. Clearly, someone had gone behind his father’s back, but who? Certainly, Ned wouldn’t trust Cersei Lannister, or any of the people here. The only person Jon knew his father trusted was the King, but Robert Baratheon wasn’t the same man as the one who fought beside Ned years ago. Maybe he didn’t take well to Ned sending his children away?

No, there was something more at work here. Someone working behind the scenes and pulling everyone’s strings. Jon couldn’t produce anyone at the moment, but he knew there was a rat or snake that was far craftier than the rest here. He would keep a look out for whomever it was, that is, if he wasn’t put down in the dungeons first.

Jon continued his pacing around his chambers, waiting for someone to come back and tell him something. He wished they had locked him with Sansa at the very least. He could only imagine how terrified and confused she must be right now. At least he had an inkling of what was going on, but his half-sister had no idea the extent of everything. He also feared for Arya, where she was and when she would be inevitably dragged into the Hand’s Tower to join them.

Waiting in silence was slowly digging at him. Paranoia started to eat at his nerves as minutes upon minutes drifted by without a single word to him. He heard nothing and the only person he saw was a servant quickly sliding in a plate of food into his chambers before swiftly locking him in again. The urge to take the plate of food and fling it against the door was strong, but he held back.

That could be the only bit of food he got for a while, it wouldn’t do to let his anger take control of his actions. Ser Selmy lectured on his anger thrice already during training, telling Jon repeatedly that he needed to rein in his anger and to keep a level head. The old knight even had him doing breathing exercises to show Jon how to regain his cool and stay collected even when he wanted nothing more than to rage.

Jon settled down on his bed, closing his eyes, and slowly started breathing in and out of his mouth. It took a few minutes, but eventually, he was able to let most of his anger go; for now.

\-----------

A few days went by with the same routine. Food would be slid into his chambers during different times of the day without any consistence, so he could never figure out when to be ready. Boredom settled in quickly. Before long he was leaning against a window sill, staring at the outside world and wondering where his father was. That was probably what got to him most was wondering what his father was doing right now.

It had been days now. Days since they had talked, days since he had learned about everything; days. Jon didn’t even know if Sansa was still in her chambers beside him or not. Nothing made sense though. Being detained without word and treated like dogs; being called a traitor to the crown. There was something more that his father hadn’t told him, Jon was sure of it.

His mind brought up the day his father came into his chambers with fear in his eyes. There was something Ned found out, something that made him act rashly. Jon rubbed at his head as he thought of that day and how angered he was at the fact that his father didn’t trust him enough, relied on him enough to tell him the truth of the matter. Now, he was stuck, a hostage in King’s Landing with Sansa and no idea as to why.

Jon slumped down beneath the window, staring hard at the opposite wall. What could he do to help? There was always the chance of catching whoever was delivering him food, but what of the consequences to him or his sisters? They wouldn’t harm his sisters over something he did…would they?

Would they?...

The next day, he was woken by guards entering his chambers. Jon was dragged from the room much like how he was dragged into it. Their hands gripped his arms so tightly that Jon couldn’t help but struggle against their hold because it hurt. They took him through the Keep to a room he had never been to before.

The door opened, and he was flung to the ground like trash. The stone flooring was rough against his skin and shook his bones to the core as he landed harshly on his elbows and knees.

“Jon!”

His head whipped up to see Sansa sitting before a desk with Cersei Lannister behind it, watching him with her narrowed green eyes. His sister moved to get up when he felt a sharp pain in his back that knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“Now Sansa, if you don’t want your bastard brother in anymore pain then you will write the letter to your brother Robb,” Cersei instructed calmly, smirking at the pained expression in Sansa’s face as she glanced between them.

Cersei made a gesture with her hand, and suddenly Jon felt another sharp pain then another and then another.

“Okay! I will! Please stop hurting him!” Sansa cried out, her voice high pitched and shrill. Jon blinked away the black dots in his sight to see the Queen slid a piece of paper to his sister. Tears rolled down her reddened cheeks as she began to write the letter insisted upon her.

A weight was lifted off his back, allowing Jon to curl into a ball. One of the knights had stomped his armored boot on his back, resulting in the pain. The only sound in the room was the scratching of a quill against paper until it stopped.

“It’s done,” Sansa mumbled softly.

“Good. Your father is a traitor to the kingdom and if your brother doesn’t regain his senses then so will he. Take them back to their chambers.”

Jon groaned as he was carelessly lifted from his prone position on the ground. He caught a glance at Sansa, her arm locked in the hand of a knight then they were both taken out of the room.

“What’s going on!?” Jon managed to say though it was quieter than he intended with his breath knocked from his lungs. “Eddard Stark is no traitor!”

“Quiet!” one of the men yelled out, flinging his gloved hand out to catch Jon in the face. Stars burst in his sight as blood pooled in his mouth. Blaring white noise swallowed any sound in his ears as rage started to take over him. Angered at the treatment, he turned his head up and spat the blood in his mouth at the knight that struck him.

“Jon, stop!”

The knight turned to him then, slamming his fist into Jon’s gut, effectively knocking all air from his body. He gasped and choked, but his lungs seemed to refuse to work with him. He felt another hit, but his belly was already out of air, so it hurt less than the first punch.

“Please stop! Stop hurting him!”

He got one more hit to his belly before it stopped. Jon could hardly move his legs, his vision darkening from lack of oxygen in his body. He didn’t remember the trek up the tower. He saw nothing and the only thing he heard was his sister’s soft crying.

Jon was dropped unceremoniously to the ground where he crumbled into a ball, still trying to breath properly. He felt a soft hand on his face, pushing aside his hair. Minutes went by with that soft hand caressing his face and hair while he slowly regained his ability to breath. It seemed to take forever before he could open his eyes. There Sansa was beside him, his head pressed snug against her thigh and her hand still caressing his head.

He glanced around and noted that he wasn’t put back into his chambers. Instead, he was dropped in the sitting room where they ate supper, and Septa Mordane taught Sansa and Arya their lessons. Jon closed his eyes again, nuzzling into Sansa’s thigh to soak up her sweet attention. He longed for human interaction for days now, it was far more of a relief than he thought to be here with her now.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Jon. They hurt you so much.” Jon turned his head up to see her staring down at him, her eyes watery and tears trailing down her cheeks.

“I was angry. I wasn’t thinking,” he answered lamely, his voice far quieter than normal. He was still recovering.

“Cersei said that father betrayed the King, that he was trying to rob Joffrey of his crown. They have him locked away in the dungeons and-and Joffrey says if father publicly confuses to treason that he’ll be sent to the Wall.” Jon frowned, the sense of irony was not lost to him, but none of what Sansa said was right. She had to know that.

“Lord Stark’s not a traitor, Sansa.”

“I know that, Jon! But what else are we supposed to believe?! I don’t even know what happened! First, everything was fine, and we were going to go back home and now this? Father didn’t tell us anything!” Sansa stopped caressing his cheek, simply placing her hand there. He could tell she was angry with their father, and he couldn’t fault her for her anger either. There was much that Eddard Stark left unsaid when he probably shouldn’t have. “I don’t want to marry him, Jon! He’s horrid! We were supposed to leave here! We would have been at Winterfell by now…”

Jon lifted his hand to place it over top of hers, giving a gentle squeeze to it. His thumb moved back and forth upon her skin, trying to soothe her as best as he could. “I won’t let that happen. There’s more going on than either of us realize. Lord Stark told me some things, but he hadn’t said everything…” he trailed off, coughing at the dryness in his throat. Sansa brushed her thumb up and down his forehead.

“What did he tell you, Jon?” she asked softly, staring off at the far wall, lost in thought.

Jon blinked rapidly, swallowing harshly within his throat. The fear that he was sure his father felt upon not wanting to tell him information came over him, so he asked, “Where’s Arya?”

“I don’t know. She escaped…all I know is that they can’t find her,” Sansa answered sadly, her gaze dropped to his for a mere second then her stare returned to the far wall once more. “Tell me, Jon. I don’t want to be left in the dark anymore.”

“Father was investigating Jon Arryn’s death,” Jon finally admitted. “He must have learned something, something that made Jon Arryn’s death suspicious. Whatever it was, it got him in trouble with the crown.”

“You don’t think King Robert was mad about breaking the betrothal?” Sansa asked, peering down at him once more. Jon merely shook his head. He might not have been particularly happy, but not mad enough to do any of this. “Then…then it must have something to do with the Lannisters,” his sister added, letting her hand drop as Jon finally forced himself to sit up. His muscles ached, and surely, he was bruised as well.

“Aye, possibly. I don’t trust the Queen any more than I trust anyone else here aside from you.” Sansa lightly smiled at him then she sighed, dropping her forehead down upon his shoulder to lean against him as though all her energy had up and vanished. “But enough talk of that. If they think we know anything else, then we could be down in the dungeons too.”

Sansa pulled back, biting down on her lip with fear flashing in her blue eyes. Silently, he vowed to make sure nothing bad happened to her.

“What are we going to do, Jon? We’re stuck here…”

“We keep our heads down, avoid attention, and try to figure out a way to escape. I won’t let anything happen to you, Sansa. I promise,” Jon swore, reaching up to brush back her loose hair from her face. His thumb wiped away the wet trail on her cheek then she was burying her face into his chest, clinging to him so tightly that it hurt his bruised stomach, but he didn’t say anything about it. His arms slowly closed in around her as he sunk into her warmth.

He was brought down South to protect his sisters, to watch over them. Unfortunately, Arya was on her own while they were stuck in the Red Keep. That worried him, but not as much as he thought it would. His little sister was smart and resourceful, if anyone could survive alone out there, it was Arya. If anything, she was far safer than they were currently.

“Jon, I’m scared,” Sansa admitted. He swallowed thickly, wishing he had the words to soothe her anxiety, but he didn’t.

“So am I, Sansa, so am I.”…

\------------

Two days later they watched as their father confessed to treason.

Then they watched as he lost his head for it.

By the time Jon was placed back in his chambers, he was black and blue from fighting the men around him, and still, he couldn’t save his father. Sansa passed out after the sword went straight through their father’s neck; like butter. He saw nothing but red, he pulled, punched, and fought until he was pinned to the ground with fists and feet raining down upon him and Joffrey’s laughter ringing loudly in his ears.

Jon was surprised he hadn’t been thrown in the dungeon after that. He protected his face as much as he could, but that didn’t stop the broken nose he received by one kick and a cracked molar from a fist to his jaw. His right shoulder blade was popped out of place, that pain almost made him black out entirely.

When he came to, Maester Pycelle was looking over him. He somewhat set Jon’s broken nose then he proceeded on putting his shoulder blade back in place. Jon passed out from the pain, and he didn’t wake again until it was almost two days later. His head throbbed fiercely, and his body was covered in bruises in varying states of healing.

Sansa was taken to another portion of the castle as was he. Jon spent much of his time alone as he healed. During that time, he allowed his anger at the Lannisters to fester. Every time he closed his eyes he could see his father leaning over his knees and the Stark House sword, Ice swinging down upon his neck.

Like butter.

Throughout the night if Jon wasn’t having strange dreams where he felt like he was Ghost with Lady and Nymeria, he was dreaming of killing each Lannister he came across. He dreamt of taking Ice and killing Ilyn Payne first then seeking out every single man and women that had a hand in his father’s death. Those dreams were dark, colored in reds, and left Jon gasping for air when he woke from them as though they were nightmares instead.

How could something so righteous be a nightmare?

His subconscious urges in his dreams didn’t worry him too much. The want for justice and the want to destroy those who have already ruined other lives including his and his sisters couldn’t possibly be wrong. No, those dreams didn’t worry him.

It was the other dream that did.

The one where he finds Sansa in her bed and joins her. The one where he comforts her sorrow, caressing her body until she relaxes. The one where the lines between relation blur significantly.

The one where Jon Snow fucks his half-sister, Sansa Stark…

Jon’s only half-way healed when he’s pulled from his chambers. He’s brought before Joffrey on the Iron Throne. Sansa is already standing before him, her hair down rather than pulled into the elaborate styles of the South. He much preferred her hair braided the Northern way. Joffrey demanded fealty from them and to denounce their family as Robb had been raised as King in the North.

Glancing at Sansa, it took every ounce of strength for him to denounce his family and swear fealty to King Joffrey Baratheon. Sansa followed behind him, bowing her head as she spoke. All was quiet in the hall before Joffrey accepted their words. For a moment, Jon feared that he would be losing his head next.

He barely got to see Sansa before she was swept away. Jon learned then that Ser Selmy had left King’s Landing and the service of the crown, dismissed by the current King. Jon wished the old knight was around but couldn’t really blame him for leaving, there was no honor in what the Lannisters have done especially Joffrey Baratheon. Though he bore his father’s last name, he was a Lannister through and through. Unfortunately, with his denouncement of his family, that left Jon without a knight for him to squire.

Joffrey took care of that.

He had elevated his Uncle Jaime to Lord Commander and put Sandor Clegane into the Kingsguard. Laughing maniacally, Joffrey stated that Jon would squire for Sandor now. The Hound snared in annoyance, his half-burnt face twisted in disgust. Jon felt much the same. He bowed his head though and accepted his new position if only to stay close to Sansa and keep her safe.

The Hound put him to work by giving Jon meaningless tasks that more or less kept him out of the way. He was constantly going to Flea’s Bottom, fetching whatever Clegane felt necessary for Jon to get. He felt stupid and useless and missed Barristan Selmy more and more. There were the few times that he trained with the burnt man, but they were few and far between, especially when Jon proved how well he was with a sword.

Sandor didn’t like being showed up.

Jon only got glimpses of Sansa throughout that first week. She kept to her new chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast in the highest tower, or so he was told by the Hound. She seemed to be avoiding everyone as much as possible, and he couldn’t blame her for it either even though he missed seeing her. All they had was each other at this point, and they needed each other to survive King’s Landing.

There wasn’t a day nor a minute that went by that Jon didn’t think about either of his sisters. He hoped and prayed that Arya was surviving on her own, hopefully, she was with someone trustworthy. He wished she was there with them if nothing else than for the selfish need to have his little sister with him, to help keep Jon’s head level. He’d remind himself though that Sansa needed him to keep his head level; that they both needed too.

The first time he sees Sansa after a sennight of seclusion is like a breath of fresh air. It was in the Throne room where Joffrey had both of them presented before him as he spoke of their traitor brother’s winning battle and capture of Jaime Lannister. Jon could tell he was angry, realizing how his men were outmaneuvered in the field. It took everything in him not to smirk at the King.

Then he said those awful words.

“Strip her and beat her.”

Sansa gasped in shock, her dress was suddenly yanked from her body and ripped into shreds. She screamed loudly, arms crossing over her chest to cover her bare breasts as Jon moved quickly, lunging over her before anything more could happen or be seen.

“Beat me, not her!” Jon begged, covering Sansa with his body as she held her arms against her and the pieces of her dress up to her chest. The knight had ripped her dress well, revealing her smooth, pale back.

“If I have the knights beat you, they’ll beat you harder than they will her,” Joffrey commented, eyebrow arched with his lips twisted in something that was probably meant to be a smile, but far more sinister.

“If you wish to harm someone then harm me,” Jon growled loudly, turning his narrowed eyes up to glare at the King. Sansa mumbled his name, turning her watery eyes to him.

Joffrey slouched in the Iron Throne then shrugged carelessly with a wave of his hand. “So be it, Ser Meryn, Ser Mandon, make sure Jon Snow bleeds through his clothes.”

The first whack of the sword forced Jon heavily upon Sansa who he was still shielding from prying eyes. His hands planted on the ground over her, keeping most of his weight from squishing her as he was beaten with the flat side of a sword. Then Meryn came forth, slamming his fist into Jon’s side, forcing him to land on the ground, on his side.

Sansa cried out as they continued to beat upon his body with swords, feet, and fists. Jon took it though, he accepted each hit if it meant keeping Sansa safe from a similar treatment. He could hear Joffrey’s laughter from up on the throne. Jon was sure the little shit was thoroughly amused by what his knights were doing.

The air was knocked from his lungs, his body shivered and ached in pain, and he could feel blood seeping from his back where the sword nicked his skin when it landed on his body. Jon groaned and gasped, but that was all he would let out. One particular hit forced him to bite his lip, lest he cry out to the satisfaction of the King watching gleefully.

“Please stop!” Sansa screamed suddenly, wailing at the sight of his pain.

“Stop? But we’re having so much fun! Why stop now?” Joffrey goaded from his perch, snickering down at them.

By the end of the beating, Jon could hardly stand up. He laid there on his side, trying to suck in air into his chest.

“That was entertaining! For every battle your traitor brother wins against the crown, you will be beaten and bled,” Joffrey declared. Jon merely grunted, feeling exhausted while his body screamed in agony.

He could hear Sansa sniffling, trying to keep her crying to a minimal. Jon turned his head slightly to see her on her knees, hands covering her face, and shoulders silently shaking. Her arms pinned the shreds of her dress to her to keep her modesty. He wished he could say something to her, to try and comfort her, but he could barely move his body much less his mouth.

Joffrey waved him away, but when Jon struggled to get up, he had the very men who beat him, drag him back to his chambers. Jon laid crumbled on the floor of his room, breathing harshly. As he laid there, the wish to pummel the boy King’s snaring face in consumed his mind. He thought of different ways to torture the fool, making him cry out in pain and beg Jon to stop, but he wouldn’t.

He’d made Joffrey pay for the pain he put upon his family. The fact that he was so willing to allow knights from his Kingsguard to strip and beat an innocent girl in front of so many eyes. Even worse, if Robb really is King in the North then that made Sansa a princess. Jon balled up his hands into fists, shaking in his rage.

The dark thought of him sitting there on the Iron throne, looking down upon all those who had harmed him, and his family was most satisfying. Jon could imagine it now, sitting there with Sansa by his side as they judged each and every person who had a part in their father’s death. He figured she’d stand beside him, but he wished she’d sit on his lap instead. Joffrey would be first, but then his mother would be next.

Down the line, they’d judge each and every one. It was a dark yet sweet thought, a dream to give him strength while he dealt with his living nightmare. He laid there for a few minutes, relishing the thought of harming those who harmed him and his family, but then his father’s face appeared before him. Eddard Stark would never condone in such an act in retaliation. He always tried to do the honorable thing, the right thing.

Jon wasn’t so sure he was like his father though. The thoughts that swirled inside his head, the ones of the Lannisters and even the ones about Sansa…it was a constant battle inside his head to be good, to be like his father.

But then why would he want to be like his father? He hardly trusted Jon with the truth of why they came to King’s Landing in the first place. He wanted to speak about the lone wolf dying, but the pack surviving and yet, he played the role of lone wolf and look where it got him. Dead.

Jon groaned at the pain, his head throbbing just as painfully as his body did. He tried sitting up and managed to lean against his bed, only after struggling to keep his balance for a few minutes. He surveyed his nearly empty chambers before eyeing the door.

He wondered if the maester would come to him to check his injuries; probably not.

As he struggled to get to his feet, his door opened slowly, stalling his progress. Jon found Sansa poking her head between the door and frame. She almost shut the door but noticing him abruptly.

“Jon!” she called out in shock, shutting the door tightly behind her before rushing to his side. With her help, he was able to get up on his bed though he suffered from vertigo and needed to lay down afterward. He noted that she had changed into a new dress from the torn one, it made him wonder just how much time had gone by while he laid incapacitated on the floor.

“You shouldn’t have said anything, I could have handled it,” she solemnly reprimanded him while she tugged down his blankets from underneath him.

Jon snorted. “I will never let that happen to you.” Tears filled her eyes once more, turning her clear blue eyes murky and sad.

“But they hurt you so badly,” Sansa mumbled, her tears watering over to drift down her cheeks. She lifted her hand to touch his face lightly, pulling away his hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead before stroking her fingers down his cheek.

“I’ll heal,” Jon answered lamely, turning his head a little to nuzzle into her fingers, seeking out her touch like a wolf.

“I want to go home, to mother and Robb, and Bran, and Rickon…I want Arya too. I miss her so much.” Jon dragged his hand up to cup hers around his cheek, rubbing his calloused fingers along her smooth skin.

“I want that too, but we’re stuck here for now.”

“Robb will come to save us though, he wouldn’t leave us behind,” Sansa said with such certainty and conviction. Jon felt an ache in his chest, right in his heart at her words. Would he come to save them? Of course, he was sure that Robb was planning on saving them, but was it feasible?

Jon hated to think it, but he was just Robb’s bastard brother, meaning he wasn’t nearly as valuable as Sansa. If anything, their brother was thinking of saving Sansa and Arya, rather than him. That didn’t hurt so much, but the thought that Robb wouldn’t consider him in trying to save his sisters did hurt. What if he gets there and only finds Sansa and him without Arya? A whole range of emotions went through him, shame, fear, and anguish.

“Don’t be sad, Jon. Robb will save us, I know he will.” He only nodded slowly, hoping she was right.

Sansa took it upon herself to clean his wounds and bruises up as much as she could. She flushed prettily when she helped him shed his tunic to reveal his chest and back to her. Jon liked her reaction to him far more than he should, enjoying her reddened cheeks and soft, fluttery eyes. It brought back memories of that time in his chambers…

Her hands felt both nice and awful, soothing and painful, but Jon endured it. She also huffed and puffed upon seeing every injury, mumbling choice words that made him chuckle because it was something he expected from Arya rather than her.

They caught up on lost time before she left to get him some food and water. By the time she came back, Maester Pycelle was there, officially treating his wounds. The old man eyed her up as she set aside some bread, cheese, and water for Jon before taking her leave though he could tell she wanted to stay longer.

Jon missed her dearly once she left.

The days went on as such with each won battle Robb had, Jon was beaten black and blue. During one session, Sansa got in the way, trying to protect him from an awful hit from the flat of a sword and she received it instead across her own back. That was an awful day for Jon couldn’t stop the knight from finishing the beating upon her instead. When he tried to talk sense into her, she merely shook her head, giving him a proud smile while saying, “If you can protect me then I can protect you.”

Jon was at a loss as to how to respond to that statement.

Luckily, he didn’t have to worry much longer for during his final beating, Tyrion Lannister arrived and stopped it entirely. Jon was in awe at the dwarf’s audacity when talking to the boy king; talking down to him that is. He had found the small man strange when in Winterfell, but now he admired him for standing up to his nephew’s cruelty.

But that didn’t stop the cruelty he received altogether, it just stopped the public cruelty that Joffrey enjoyed displaying for the court to see. Jon was regarded hatefully at every turn, words of hate spewed at him, but he would survive this ordeal in his life. He wouldn’t leave Sansa alone to handle the horrors that the South was putting upon them. Jon would be her protector, he’d give his life for her if needed, yet he hoped it didn’t come to that because it would be far worse to be left alone to deal with this horrible cesspool in King’s Landing.

In the end, they have each other and they would survive because the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah... I know a lot of you were hoping for Jon and Sansa to get out of KL before shit went down, but unfortunately, that didn't happen. Ned still tried to give Cersei an out and refused Renly's idea of take over and trusting LF still costed him his life. Sadly. Arya makes her escape which will be explained in the next chapter on how she got away and Sansa did not. Things are also going to get a bit more heated between these Sansa and Jon next chapter as well, so hopefully that will appease y'all some, lol. It was also very last minute that I decided to add in the first section with Jon writing to Robb. Will it make a difference? Maybe, maybe not. I figured Jon would try to do something rather than not. Things will change down the road, but certain events will stay within the same path like Ned's death.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this installment! It was a dozy and I am working hard on the next chapter, so I can post it much sooner than almost three weeks later, hahahaha. Let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update coming at ya! This particular chapter is exclusively from Sansa's POV. Ironically, it wasn't meant to be in the previously written story, but as I was formatting and editing things around, I pushed back the portion that is in Jon's POV to the next chapter since I wanted to add a bit more for this one. Evidently, it ended up being from Sansa's POV, so I just went with it. I added a partial scene from the show in this chapter though it's different than the show scene. 
> 
> Anywho, enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

Each day brought more pain and uncertainty, but Sansa dealt with it best she could. She guarded herself with her courtesies, claiming to still love Joffrey Baratheon even though he sickened her to near death. Each day was a trial in its own, but Jon being there helped. The first day when he elected to take her beatings for her, to protect her. It renewed her faith in chivalry, that there were still good men out there even if he was her half-brother. And yet, more times than not, Sansa would forget that Jon was her half-brother.

Sometimes he looked at her like she was an angel from above. He treated her so kindly, always had really. Time and time again, she resented her lack of attention towards him back home. There were so many things she wished she could change in regard to Jon and to her sister, Arya. So many things, but the past is the past. All Sansa could do now was try to make amends and aim for a better future; that is if she had one at all.

She hoped and prayed for Robb to bring his army to King’s Landing and save them both from the Lannisters, but sometimes she feared she was putting too much faith into her older brother. Jon didn’t seem quite as optimistic as she was, making sure to ground her back to reality and what war could bring upon them when Robb got there. Jon vowed endlessly to protect her though, and she believed his every word too. He was the only one who had come through on his words, it seemed…

Sansa sighed deeply, leaning her head down onto her crossed arms as she gazed out the window of her chambers. She felt depressed, lonely, and weak. She felt like a willowy figure stuck in a tower and she certainly was that, she thought as she looked down to see the large courtyard of the Red Keep. The people were mere specks from this height; little dots that moved like she was on the ground peering at tiny black ants in the dirt. It gave her a lot of perspective as it also made her slightly disoriented.

Her mind roved over a memory of hers. Another time she was in a tower at Winterfell, looking down upon everyone in the courtyard, though it hadn’t felt like looking down at ants. It felt more like being on the outside, looking in. Sansa could remember more times than she had fingers of being inside, learning her lessons and sewing while the boys were outside, playing around and getting all muddy.

She couldn’t even count the many times she spotted Arya outside, skipping out on her lessons to be with the boys. Sansa never ratted her out though. Septa Mordane would question her then go on a rant about her sister before starting the lesson. She knew Arya would get in trouble with their mother later when the old woman approached her about the younger Stark daughter not coming to her lessons.

Arya tended to blame Sansa though.

Her mind wandered through the memories of home, but more so, the memories of her little sister. It made her heart ache further to think of how well they had been getting along and how much she truly treasured her little sister. Sansa sniffled a little then discreetly wiped at the tears that escaped her watery eyes.

With the time to reminisce, her mind brought up the last memory she had of Arya. The one that lead to her capture and her little sister’s escape…

\----------

Arya was amazing, Sansa thought as she watched her sister dance on the balls of her feet, twirling out of stances with agility and supreme balance. Syrio watched with careful eyes, dodging her movements with far better ease, but Arya kept him on his toes as well. The clacking of wood against wood was rather loud, echoing around them, but somehow it was soothing to listen to as she watched them fight-dance, watched them dance.

Truly, it was like dancing. A far more deadly dance, but dancing nonetheless.

Sansa felt a bit of envy come over her as she watched though. With everything that had been going on, she felt quite weak and pathetic. Yet, here was Arya, swinging a large, heavy chunk of wood with spinning as though she was light as a feather with an intensity in her eyes that showed her complete and utter focus. She would never be considered weak or pathetic.

Arya would never be a victim.

That thought riddled her mind, poking at her insecurities and pushing her mood to sour. Sansa knew she could never do what Arya could. Her expertise was in the attributes and skills of a Lady, it was what she was so good at. It was something her sister tended to be horrible at though that didn’t mean she didn’t try her best. Sansa could see herself being in the same shoes if she was forced to learn this type of dancing, to learn to handle a sword like a man.

She would flounder and fail, each and every time. It would be Arya that would be looked upon as perfect and amazing. Thinking of it that way, it made her understand her sister even better than before. Though she was envious of her sister’s fighting ability, her sister was envious of her skills as a Lady.

If we were smashed together, we’d be a perfect woman, Sansa thought jokingly. She pushed her sour mood away, pushed her insecurities of weakness away. She could be strong in a different way and Arya could be her strength in this way. And Jon as well, she mentally added.

He acted the big brother as he left them, telling both to behave and be nice to each other. Arya cocked an eyebrow at him then called Sansa, “prissy princess”, to which she called her back, “man hands”. Jon groaned at them as both laughed good naturedly. Arya had even swing her arm around Sansa’s shoulders before they waved him off.

“Would you wish to join us, my lady?” Sansa jumped at being addressed, noticing that Syrio was talking to her. He wasn’t even sweating while Arya was panting with droplets of sweat dotting her face.

“Oh! No, thank you, sir! I am perfectly fine watching you both.” He nodded curtly, turning back to Arya.

“Are you sure, Sansa? You’ve always been good at everything you try,” Arya commented though without a mean tone as she had once mocked before. There was tension in her eyes though, she could see that her little sister wanted to extend a friendly hand, but she didn’t want to share something she was so very good at.

And Sansa could never take that away from her.

“I’m quite sure, Arya,” she answered, smiling brightly when she noticed the way her sister’s shoulders eased and the tension leaving her eyes. “Please, continue,” she added, waving them on.

Syrio had Arya train for twenty minutes more before stopping to give her a short lesson and talk about how different training would be once they were up North where it was cooler.

Sansa listened to him as her eyes wandered around the area they were at. It was her wandering eyes that caught sight of the armed men approaching them. She stood up quickly, calling out Arya’s name as the men stomped their way over.

“Can I help you?” Syrio questioned, moving to stand between them and the men. Arya backed up slowly towards Sansa.

“Grab needle,” Arya whispered to her, waving at the thin sword that was by her. Sansa leaned down as though she were wiping her skirts of dust as she reached behind her to lift the sword from against the wall, clutching it tightly in her hand and against her back while her sister slid up next to her. They stealthily passed the sword between them.

“We are here for the girls,” one man announced.

“And who are you?” Syrio questioned further.

“We are here to apprehend and contain the Stark Household.”

Sansa’s heart thundered inside her chest as she heard those words. Did they find out about them leaving tomorrow? We’re they in trouble with the Crown for leaving without telling them? Sansa blindly reached for Arya’s arm, clutching at it tightly to try and keep herself stable and steady.

Taking them in, Sansa realized she knew the garb the men wore. “They’re from House Lannister,” she mumbled, squeezing Arya’s arm even tighter. It was Cersei, she knew it, she must have found out about father’s plans for them.

It felt like air was constricting inside her throat, locking away her ability to breath easily. Sansa crouched over her knees, gasping for air as panic shook her entire body. If Cersei knew then that meant she was angry at them. She would be forced to wed Joffrey, she’ll have to bear his children, she’ll be stuck here forever!

“Sansa,” Arya hissed though she was crouching slightly, leaning into her to whisper, “just breath. Stop thinking and just breath.”

Nodding her head, she pushed away her panicking thoughts. Air wouldn’t so easily come back, but it was better than before. She needed to stay grounded, to keep away pestering thoughts until they had a chance to figure everything out.

“Step aside,” the leader of the group gritted out. Syrio shook his head though, waving his wooden sword into a defensive stance.

“Arya, remember your training. Now go, both of you.”

Sansa felt her sister shake then she was turning away from the master swordsman, grasping her hand to drag her along as they ran away. She stumbled as she tried to keep up with Arya’s quick feet, still staggering to get air into her body while her skirts were getting in the way of her movements. Sansa tugged up the front of her skirts to better run with, fear bursting through her veins as she heard shouting and the sound of fighting behind them.

“We need to find father!” Sansa wheezed, tripping for a moment but Arya’s steady movements kept her from crashing to the ground.

“We need to get away!” Arya yelled back, taking a sharp turn down a corridor. She didn’t even sound slightly winded, Sansa thought.

“But where? How?” she questioned desperately. She could hear the thundering of boots on the stone flooring, surely, the Lannister men would catch them before they could get far.

“I’m thinking!” Arya grounded out, a hint of panic in her voice.

Sansa glanced back to see the men coming. They would never make it out without being captured. She was still struggling to breath properly, she was only slowing Arya down. That’s when the thought came to her.

We can’t escape together, but Arya can escape on her own.

She snatched her hand out of her sister’s grip, halting abruptly. Arya whipped around, screaming her name only for Sansa to cut her off, “Go! Run and get away! I’ll distract them for you to get away.”

“I can’t leave you!” Arya yelled back, eyes wide and her face twisted in fear.

“Yes, you can!”

“I promised to protect you!” Arya screamed shrilly, eyes watering as she glared at Sansa.

“Let me protect you now and you can protect me later,” Sansa stated quickly, turning to see the men coming up fast. “Go, please!”

Arms wrapped tightly around her waist for a mere second then Arya was running away with the last thing Sansa would probably ever hear her little sister say again, “I’ll come back for you, no matter what!”

Her sister was quick on her feet and though Sansa only managed to stop a few of them to be captured, Arya still managed to out maneuver them and escape. She was taken back to the Hand’s Tower and locked away in her chambers…

\----------

Sansa buried her face into her arms, drenching her skin in her tears. At least, the last thing she would hear of her sister was that she would come back for her. She hardly believed that was plausible at this point, but it was a lovely sediment that eased her heart even though she wallowed in pain.

Her thoughts then drifted to Jon. She missed him immensely. They hardly ever got to see each other, the only times were mostly when Joffrey wanted to parade them around and teach them ‘lessons’ when their brother showed vast promise on the battle field. With Tyrion coming around, becoming the new Hand to the King and stopping the beatings, Sansa didn’t get to see her half-brother all that much.

She tried visiting his chambers a few times, but she was constantly followed or escorted around. She didn’t want to get Jon in trouble, nor did she wish to be questioned either. Worst yet, Sansa definitely didn’t want Joffrey to think she was plotting with Jon. It seemed that keeping a distance between them was unfortunately a good thing. As long as she stayed courteous and pretended to be in love with Joffrey then Jon wasn’t harmed.

Footsteps approached her from behind. Wiping her eyes again, she glanced behind her to see Shae behind her with a soft smile on her lips. The woman was beautiful with her soft cheek bones, dark hair and dark, almond shaped eyes. She was very nice too, treating Sansa like a human being rather than a daughter of a traitor family. Sansa had been wary of her when she first came to be her personal handmaiden, but slowly, she was opening up to Shae.

She still kept certain things to herself, but it was hard to be distant to someone who was so genuine towards her. Shae had come right out and said she was placed there by Tyrion, but that she wasn’t there to whisper Sansa’s secrets back, she was there as a form of protection though she couldn’t do much in that aspect, Sansa thought. The woman was as thin as she was, but there was a toughness in her, so maybe there was more to Shae than she could see physically.

“Lady Sansa,” Shae greeted with her soft, accented voice. A smile came to her lips upon hearing the other woman’s voice, already soothing her loneliness. “You have been invited by the King to supper tonight,” Shae added, her voice becoming less light as she finished her sentence.

Immediately, Sansa’s face fell. She would rather not have to eat with that family again. Tommen and Myrcella were sweet and kind, but they were overshadowed by Joffrey and Cersei. It was going to be a difficult night, she supposed.

Shae’s flat lined lips and burrowed brows told her that she felt sorry for her. Sansa felt sorry for herself as well. “I will get a bath ready.”

Sighing, she turned back to stare out the window, again her eyes drew down to see the ant like dots moving around. Oh, if only they were all Lannisters, then she would happily step and squash all of them like they truly were ants beneath her feet. An infestation that needed to be taken cared of.

If only that could happen…

\---------------------------------

Sitting at the table with the Lannister family (they were hardly Baratheon’s with all the Lannister colors around them and on their clothing), Sansa tried to keep a steady face of neutrality. It was hard to keep up, but not as hard as it was to put food into her mouth and force herself to eat. It was all but ashes in her mouth, tasteless and gag-inducing.

Joffrey sat at the head of the table, boasting about how well they were doing on the battle field and how the traitors of the North would soon be handled. He kept watching her face, expecting to get some type of reaction, but Sansa had her face schooled well and that only made him angrier.

“I’ll make sure to have you kiss your traitor brother’s cheek on his decapitated head when I meet him in battle. Wouldn’t you like that?” Joffrey taunted darkly, taking a large bite of a chicken leg afterwards with him mouth wide open as he chewed.

“If it pleases my beloved,” Sansa meekly answered, drawing her eyes down to her mostly full plate of food. The loud chewing was so disgusting, it made her stomach rock.

“Mother,” Tommen spoke quietly, drawing Sansa’s attention to see him looking at Cersei as he asked, “will Sansa still marry Joffrey, if he…if he kills her brother?”

Joffrey snorted, but kept eating though she could feel his eyes burning a hole into the side of her head. Sansa drew her eyes over to see Cersei watching her, she then turned her gaze on her youngest child with a motherly smile that belied the monster inside her.

“Yes, she will. Sansa knows her duties,” Cersei answered lightly, her eyes then glanced back at Sansa for a moment then she went back to sipping on a glass of wine.

Sansa breathed slowly through her nose, clinching her fingers tightly around her fork as she tried to keep her face neutral. She couldn’t show them how affected she was. She couldn’t show them how much she feared them. She especially couldn’t show them how much she wanted to tear their throats out like a wolf.

It was like she could feel Lady breathing down her back, nudging her to attack, but Sansa kept the feelings at bay. Really, only Joffrey and Cersei deserved to be killed, but the younger two Baratheon children were mere innocents.

Still, she wished she could scream at them that she’d rather die than wed Joffrey and do her duty. She would rather kill herself then marry Joffrey Baratheon. As Sansa thought of a clean, self-imposed death, she thought of Jon too. She could never leave him behind like that, it would surely be a death sentence for him. Jon was only kept alive because it kept her inline and it was another form of way for Joffrey to torture them while it entertained him.

No, Sansa would do her duty if that meant keeping Jon safe and protecting him. Reaching out, she took her glass of wine, taking a hardy sip as she realized that she’d do just about anything to keep Jon safe.

I would marry a monster. I would let me take my maidenhood and spill his seed inside me. I would bear his children repeatedly, if that meant Jon was left alone. I would do anything…anything to protect him…

The dinner went on similar to the last few times she ate with them. Joffrey grunted and acted like a childish beast while everyone was mostly silent. Cersei drank and peered at all of them, especially Sansa, she seemed to like watching her the most. Sansa was withdrawn the whole time however, pretending to eat though she couldn’t possibly fake another bite and drinking more wine than she really should have. It made her wonder if that was why Cersei drank so much, to drown out everything else around her like she wanted too?

The Hound escorted her back to her chambers. He was silent, commenting something quite awful though she hadn’t bothered to listen enough to remember what he had said to her. Something about Joffrey and her, probably. Sansa kept her head down most of the trek, wishing to be in her bed where she could dream of her family and wish she was back with them and they were whole again.

They were only a few landings down from her lonesome tower when a man stepped out from the shadows. Sansa didn’t see him, but the Hound did. Sandor stopped, raising his arm to stop her as she was staring at her feet instead of ahead of them.

Startled by the gesture, Sansa looked up to see a short man approaching them. Once he came into the light of the many torches mounted on the walls, she saw it was Petyr Baelish. She had seen him plenty through out the days and weeks since her father’s death. He rarely approached her except to give a friendly smile.

Petyr bowed his head to them then turned his eyes onto her. “Hello, Lady Sansa, how do you fair this evening?”

“I am well, Lord Baelish. And you?” Sansa automatically answered though really, she just wanted to get back to her chambers to sleep.

“Well, but tired. No rest for the wicked, it seems,” he quipped sarcastically though there was an edge of a smirk on his small lips that bothered her. He was a shrewd man, having the same eyes as Jon. He sees all but says nothing.

Sansa wondered what exactly Petyr Baelish sees and if it had anything to do with her father’s death? Jon was mildly suspicious of the short man. He didn’t like him near her nor honestly, did she. He made her feel intimidated in way, as though he dissecting her in his mind, trying to learn everything about her. She didn’t like that feeling; at all.

“I am glad I have come across you this evening, you see, I am currently trying to find a way to deliver your father’s bones back to your family,” Petyr announced, drawing Sansa from her thoughts.

She blinked rapidly, staring at him like he was crazy. Wasn’t her father’s head still stuck on a pike? How could this man even be able to claim her father’s remains, much less deliver them back home?

“But how…” she started then stopped, she had a feeling there was more going on here. It smelled like betrayal and Lady was snorting and growling in the back of her mind.

“I was once a good friend of your mother’s, Lady Sansa. I hope you can also think of me as a good friend.” Petyr reached down to take her hand, bringing it up to press a kiss to her knuckles.

Sansa withheld a shiver at the feeling of his mustache touching her skin along with his thin lips. The urge to yank her hand back was overpowering, but she held back. Everyone seemed to think she was nothing but a pawn in their game, and maybe she was, but she wasn’t a willing pawn, nor would she allow herself to be used unknowingly. There was more to Petyr Baelish than was to the eye, she could see that rather clearly and Sansa knew he wanted to use her, but for what, she didn’t have a clue.

She just knew he had plans for her.

“Thank you, Lord Baelish,” Sansa mumbled, bowing her head to him then glancing at Sandor. He grunted then they started walking again.

She could feel him watching her, his eyes boring into her back as she left him behind. She couldn’t contain the shiver that ran down her spine or the gut wrenching feeling that she should possibly fear Petyr Baelish more than Joffrey or Cersei. There was more to the short man nicknamed Littlefinger and Sansa was afraid she would eventually find out what soon…

\---------------------------------

Shae greeted her upon her return, helping her to change out of the dress she worn for the dinner. She then brushed out Sansa’s hair, soothing her with each pass of the brush. It reminded her of her mother though, and so, the soothing dissipated quickly. At this point, she was ready to go to sleep and hope the next day would be better. Hope that maybe she and Jon could find a way to escape and find their way home.

“You may leave, Shae,” Sansa muttered, pulling the brush of out of her hand to continue on her own.

“Let me help you braid your hair for bed,” Shae insisted, but that only brought more memories of her mother that Sansa had rather not deal with before slumber. She merely shook her head, giving her a soft smile and bid goodnight.

Shae looked reluctant to leave, but after a moment, she nodded then left the chambers behind her. Sansa sat there for a few minutes, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked older somehow, less the fair maiden and more the drained prisoner that she had become. Her cheeks were looking shallow from her inability to eat throughout the day. A darkness was smudged beneath her blue eyes, showing the lack of sleep she dealt with each night.

She usually tossed and turned each night, haunted by nightmares of the past and possible future. Nightmares of Joffrey entering her chambers at night to take her for his own. Nightmares of seeing Jon’s head joining her father’s. Nightmares of her whole family being slaughtered before her then she would join them last.

Though she wished to go to bed because she was tired, Sansa also feared sleeping as well. She wished for a dreamless slumber where nothing could come for her. No memories, no nightmares, no wishes and hopes. If she could sleep soundly without a dream in sight, then she would consider it a good night’s rest.

Blinking slowly, Sansa shook her head then with a sigh, she gathered her hair together, beginning to braid it for bed when she heard something outside her chamber door.

Sansa turned to the door being opened without her permission. Fear struck through her being as she thought for a moment that the nightmare of Joffrey visiting her at night was coming true. Her fear halted however when she saw Jon leaning against the door frame, his face bloody and black. She shrieked his name, running forward to capture his arm and help him along into her chambers. He was limping terribly, lending most of his weight on his right leg. Sansa tried to hold his weight as well, but he was far too heavy for her to make much a difference.

“What happened?” Sansa asked, helping Jon sit on one of the chairs near the window where moonlight filtered through. In the natural lighting, she could see the bruising around his right eye, blood caked at the corners of his mouth, and the shape of fingers forming on his throat.

“I was…” Jon drifted off, his voice was low. His throat was bruised badly, it probably hurt to speak, but he pressured through. “I was walking back to my chambers when they…ambushed me…”

Sansa forced the tears welling in her eyes at bay, telling herself that crying over his injuries weren’t going to do anything for him right now. Quickly, she went to her dresser, pulling out a salve that was given to her for the cuts and bruises she received not so long ago. She eyed the small jar, hoping there would be enough to help Jon heal. Sansa also lit a candle, bringing it over to where Jon was seated, so she could better see what she was doing.

“Help me take off your clothes.”

Jon allowed her to unbutton his jerkin then slowly he shrugged the boiled leather off his body where he dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. Sansa helped him take off the tunic underneath, she found him black and blue there as well. Bruises bloomed on his tanned skin in multiple places. Each one looked ghastly and painful.

Sansa took her time, laying down the salve on his bruised skin with the lightest of touches. She wished not to add more to his pain, but she could hardly do much for him when she had to rub the salve into his skin. Jon bared it though. He ground his teeth, clutched at the armrests with white knuckles, and breathed slowly through his nose.

By the time she was done with his chest and back, she had but a drop left for his face. She turned him towards the candlelight, brushing back his wild hair from his face to better see the damage. His nose had a bump to it, possibly broken again. Sansa winced at the thought, knowing she would have to force him to see the maester to set it straight again. She took the last of the salve, using it sparingly on different sections of his face.

There was the bruising over his left eyebrow, the darkened skin of his now black eye, the purplish bruise on his chin, and around his mouth. The men who attacked Jon certainly did a number on him. He flinched when she used the last little film of salve on his chin.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I’m trying to be gentle,” Sansa assured him, using her ring finger to lightly rub it into his skin. His left eye stayed open, watching her work while his right was swollen shut.

“It’s alright, you are far gentler than the maester would have been.”

“I wish I had more to help you with. How are you feeling?” Jon snorted at her question, he winced afterward in pain.

“As though I was attacked by five men. It could be worse though.” He shrugged then groaned, his face lightly dropping down into her shoulder and neck. Sansa sighed, brushing her fingers over his unruly hair as he nuzzled into her neck. Little pricks and pimples erupted on the skin of her neck as she felt his warm, sticky skin against her.

The phantom touch of his lips ghosting over her skin caused a flush to burn in her cheeks and realize how intimate a position they were in. Jon’s arms moved slowly, wrapping around her back to keep her between his knees where she was kneeling on the ground. The sense of how inappropriate this situation was, came over her, but the sense of comfort kept Sansa from pulling away.

Arya was gone, lost out in the world. She could be dead for all they know. Father was dead, their brothers and her mother were waging war against the Lannisters while they were stuck as hostages in King’s Landing. She was valuable for her name and being a Stark while Jon was only valuable in keeping her inline, not that it would take much to do so. Even threatening to harm him brought her to her knees, begging for mercy. With everyone away or gone, Jon was the only family she had left to her.

“Sansa,” Jon mumbled into her skin. She could feel his chapped lips moving gently against her throat as he spoke. It brought about more heat in her cheeks and the strange tingles that only he could cause in her to travel down her nerve endings beneath her skin.

Sansa lightly ghosted her hand along the side of his ribs, careful of the bruising then she lightly caressed his back. He sighed deeply, his hands started to ball into her nightgown as though he was trying to anchor her to him. Then she felt it, his lips pressing insistently against her skin. Her breath hitched at the touch, vaguely wondering what he was doing. He must be out of it, surely, he wasn’t in his right mind.

Jon pressed his lips repeatedly against the skin of her neck then he was moving up, peppering kisses up to under her chin. Sansa unconsciously lifted her head back, allowing more access to her skin where he littered dry kisses all around. It felt so lovely, soothing and sweet. She could hardly think to tell him to stop, that it wasn’t right what he was doing to her. The thought of stopping him was far from her mind at the moment.

It has been so long since she felt a rush of excitement like she did now with Jon. It was constant anxiety, fear, and stress, every waking moment of her time in King’s Landing. The only time she felt secure and-dare she think it-happy was when she had Jon around her. He protected her from the beatings that Joffrey put upon her for her brother’s winnings in the war. He watched out for her, hiding her when Joffrey was out looking to further torment her. It was Jon that saved Lady at the expense of Ghost while her father didn’t fight hard enough to save her wolf.

It was Jon, and he meant the world to her.

Sansa mumbled his name as his lips pressed a kiss into the tip of her chin. One of his hands had managed to skim up her spine to clutch the nape of her neck, tilting her head forward and down. Then the lightest press of his lips came upon hers. So light and sweet, Sansa felt her eyes water. His lips lingered though, pressing deeper and deeper, making her realize it wasn’t a kiss between a brother and sister.

It was far more than that.

Sansa abruptly pulled away, turning her head to the side in case he wanted to kiss her more, but he didn’t. Jon allowed her to turn away from him, slowly releasing his hands from her body, so she could get back to her feet and stand away from him. Her chest moved up and down quickly like she had forgotten how to breathe. She noted that his eye color was darker than its normal grey, almost black.

“I’m sorry, San-You are just delirious from the pain, Jon. It’s alright, no harm done,” Sansa said quickly, stopping him from apologizing, but not to make what happened even more real. She stopped him because she couldn’t handle him apologizing for something she wanted more than she realized.

Needing something to do, Sansa picked up his jerkin to set on another chair. She’d clean it in the morning for him, there was dried blood on the leather. She then picked up his tunic, handing it over to Jon so he could replace it back over his body. When Jon finished, he pushed himself up to his feet, staggering for a moment before he got his balance right.

“What are you doing?” Jon arched his bruised brow; his lips were turned down into a frown.

“Going back to my chambers,” he answered gruffly, shuffling towards the door. Sansa stepped in front of him, blocking his way effortlessly.

“You are much too hurt to make that trek, you can sleep here tonight.”

“It’s not appropriate.” Sansa arched a brow of her own, her arms crossing over her chest where her heart was beating rapidly.

“I believe we’re quite pass what is and isn’t appropriate, don’t you think?” She stared into his eye challengingly, jutting her chin out as she waited for him to fight her further on this. After a minute though, he sighed in defeat. “Come.”

Sansa turned, directing Jon towards her bed. She got there first where she pulled one of her pillows to lay on the ground and her heavy quilted cover to make the floor more comfortable for him. It was rather hot as of late, so Sansa didn’t feel the need to have anything more than the sheets on her bed to cover her.

Jon used the bed to help him down to the ground, belatedly, she wondered if maybe she should have offered her bed and taken the ground instead. He made himself comfortable though, and in hindsight, Sansa knew he’d argue endlessly if she had offered anyway.

Once she was certain he was comfortable, she blew out the lone candle by the window then got snug in her bed. “Good night, Jon,” Sansa mumbled, turning on her side to face where he slept beside her bed.

“Good night, Sansa,” he answered.

She smiled upon hearing his voice. Her eyes closed and surprisingly, sleep eased upon her far quicker than ever before. Though she did not wish for dreams, it didn’t stop them from coming. She dreamt of Lady that night. Dreamt of running through the woods with Ghost and Nymeria leading the way. Sansa felt like she could fly by the way she moved, dodging trees and nipping at their tails.

Then the dream shifted, and she was standing alone in the empty woods. Sansa turned at the call of her name to find Jon standing before her, strong and healed. She embraced him tightly in her dream and in return he embraced her. It was lovely and soothing.

And rapidly like all dreams do, Sansa was on her hands and knees with Jon behind her, thrusting into her. Ghost, Lady, and Nymeria were a few feet in front of her, watching them. Her fingers dug into the grass and dirt, his hands dug into her hips as he snapped his into her. Sansa cried out though it wasn’t in pain. She wanted him to stop, but then she didn’t want him to stop. She felt so conflicted to the point that she did nothing but allow him to fuck her.

He’s my brother, she thought vaguely then she saw Grey Wind before her, and he answered with Robb’s voice, ‘only by half’. A rough thrust brought her down to her elbows, her fingers clinging to the grass while Jon took her for his own, took her as a wolf.

She heard her name gasped in shock and disgust, and before her was her mother and father, watching the display they made. Her lady-mother looked murderous and disgusted while their father watched with empty eyes, not agreeing or disagreeing with what he was witnessing.

‘Whore!’ her mother called her. Sansa cried out for her to understand even though she didn’t understand herself. Jon moaned her name from behind, rutting into her harder and faster. ‘Disgrace, he’s your brother!’ Catelyn yelled, baring her teeth at them.

‘But he’s not…’

Sansa choked harshly, gasping for air on her bed. It was still dark outside though lighter with the sunrise coming in an hour or so. Sansa let out a shuddering breath. Her heart was pounding inside her chest and memories of her dream haunted her thoughts. Slowly, she peered over the edge of her bed to see Jon sleeping on the floor. He was turned away from her and on his side.

Flashes of him fucking her like a wolf came over her.

It was a dream, she assured herself. The coupling was a dream, but the kisses he gave her last night weren’t. Sansa flopped back on her bed, gazing up at the canopy overhead. She winced at the slight stickiness in her smallclothes. As much as she hated to admit it, this wasn’t the first time she dreamt of Jon intimately. This was the first time she ever thought of him like that, but she had dreamt of kissing and cuddling on her bed. She dreamt of him touching her breasts and even between her legs.

Each time she had such a dream, Sansa told herself it was because he was all she had now. She was confusing her love for him as her brother for something more because of her twisted betroth. Sansa reminded herself of this each and every time she had such an intimate dream involving Jon. She had to be confusing her familial love with romantic love, it had to be a misconception because if it isn’t…

Sighing deeply, she rubbed her hands over her face. Yet, she had thought of Jon as something more for the many moons since she had been down South with him. He had wormed his way deeper into her heart where lines were certainly crossed that should never be crossed. Sansa wanted him. She wanted him like she had once wanted her betroth. She wanted Jon to be more than her half-brother. It was time she finally admitted it to herself because there was clearly a change between them, that they were both feeling.

That line had been crossed last night. Jon had crossed it first and Sansa practically pulled him over it as well. There was no denying their actions, there was no misconception, there was no turning the other cheek. It had always been easier to push aside her dreams for they weren’t real, but how could she push aside reality?

She couldn’t…

Sansa licked her lips, her hands dropped away from her face as she tried to relish the feelings that came with the kiss Jon bestowed upon her. If she closed her eyes, she could almost remember the way his lips pressed tenderly against hers. She could almost feel them now, soft yet chapped and rough though tender against her own. Aside from him being in pain and beaten, it was a perfect first kiss between them.

A first kiss that should never had happened though.

Her eyes blinked open, noting how lighter it was in her room than before. Sunrise was coming along quickly. Thinking of their kiss reminded her of the dream she had woken abruptly from. The words that her mother called her in the dream hurt, but what her father said reminded her of an incident when she was younger.

When Arya was eight, she started believing that she was a bastard much like Jon. Sansa knew she didn’t help any by saying she was to antagonize her. Her sister always paid her back by ruining something of hers, it was an endless back and forth cycle between them. Remembering those days made Sansa wish she could change her attitude towards her sister back then, open her arms to her and try to understand her better.

Sansa sighed, wishing and praying wasn’t going to change the past.

During that time, Sansa had taken a step back to really look at her siblings. She and Robb looked remarkably alike, so much so that they could be twins. Bran was shaping up to look similar to their Uncle Edmure in Riverrun, and Rickon was far too young to say who he favored in looks aside from his coloring. Sansa also looked at her half-brother, Jon too.

Jon looked so much like father, looking at her half-brother, she could assume what her father had looked like at that age. Yet there was something else to it. Sansa remembered a rumor going around that Jon wasn’t really her father’s bastard. Ned killed the rumor before it gained much traction, but not before she heard some of the women speaking in soft whispers about it.

Some whispered about Jon being Brandon Stark’s only son. Another thought maybe it was Benjen Stark who was Jon’s true father. But it was the last one whispered that truly caught her attention. One of the older women rolled her eyes at them then bluntly said, ‘what if he’s Lyanna’s’. The women had gasped in shock, glancing between each other.

Sansa was pretending to practice her sewing, her eyes vigilantly staring down her needle and thread as she waited for them to continue. She could practically feel the older woman’s eyes on her before she continued, ‘don’t you find it strange that Lord Stark is renowned for his honor yet has a bastard? And that his sister is found dead and he brings back a bastard son? It doesn’t add up.’

Septa Mordane popped up out of nowhere, yelling at them to stop their gossiping. Still, that day stuck with Sansa. It made her stop and think about her father, about his honor. She hadn’t thought much about that afterward though it remained in the back of her mind. What if Jon wasn’t really her half-brother? What if he was her cousin?

Sansa leaned back over the side of her bed to peer at Jon again, this time he had shifted to his back. Light was softly drifting in, making it easier for her to see him. His eye was swollen and black while the bruising on his face and throat looked less swollen. Letting her hand drop down, she lightly skimmed her fingers down his chest, barely touching the fabric of his tunic. If he was really her cousin, then there was no harm in their intimacy.

But was she truly thinking about this logically, or was she merely fooling herself into accepting the wicked and sinful feelings she found herself developing for Jon? Sansa wasn’t sure, but she did know one thing.

He was all she had, and she wasn’t going to let anything take him away from her…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They kissed!!! Hehehehehe, I could not wait to finally have them kiss. Sansa has also, finally, confronted her feelings for Jon and is willing to do more with him. She even has a *gasp* sex dream about him, not to mention she has an inkling that Jon might not be her half-brother after all. I have to say, that final portion is my favorite of this whole chapter though I love the Sansa&Arya scene I put in the beginning. Things are going to get more heated between Jon and Sansa. I am going back and forth on if I should have some smuttiness in the next chapter or not. Originally, chapter 3 had the kiss in it and a smut scene at the end, but that was also when it was going to be a long oneshot, so things were a bit rushed. Hopefully, that isn't the case here.
> 
> Also, things are going to divert from the canon as we go on, but if I do goof on actual canon facts, please forgive me. I only have seen the show and I have only gotten through most of the first book (right after Ned tells Cersei to take her kids and run), and I am using Wiki to fill in many blanks as well. 
> 
> Anywho, let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


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